


The clock waits so patiently on your song

by Ginny_Potter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Flashbacks to the First Wizarding War, Flashbacks to the Marauders Era, Fluff and Angst, Grimmauld Place, Lie Low At Lupin's (Harry Potter), M/M, Sirius' pov, Smut, Summer 1995
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-06 05:32:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 29,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17933789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ginny_Potter/pseuds/Ginny_Potter
Summary: June-July 1995.Voldemort is back and the Order is regrouping. Some days Sirius is fidgety and Remus is cautious and some other Sirius just wants to think and Remus just wants to push. They are both angry and hurting and lost. There is fourteen years of unsaid between them. As a new war looms over them, they struggle to find their way back to one another.“Why are you so fidgety?” he asked calmly.Sirius glared at him. He wasn’t. He just didn’t understand because nobody else was.“I’m not fidgety.” He said, through gritted teeth. “As usual, nobody takes me ser– oh, for fuck’s sake.”Remus chuckled, hiding his smile with a hand.“Forgive me,” his eyes were a light shade of brown “it has been a while, since I heard that joke.”Sirius was suddenly torn between fondness and pain. He cleared his throat.“Yeah, well, been old for a while too.”They stood quiet for some minutes, the only noises were the soft shrieks of Buckbeak, that was becoming restless and scratching the dirt, and the chirrup of nocturnal insects. Sirius didn’t know if they would ever manage to have a conversation that didn’t end in silence and in painful memories.





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aryastark_valarmorghulis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aryastark_valarmorghulis/gifts).



> God this has been like giving birth.
> 
> Okay, what happened?  
> It was supposed to be a simple collection of missing moments from June to December 1995. It became almost 30000 words of angst and pain and why did I even...?  
> I dunno.
> 
> Well, I hope you like it, my dear  aryastark_valarmorghulis , I hope you'll enjoy it even if it wasn't exactly what you prompted.
> 
> A thank you also to Marta, who betaed and followed it and has been very Fräulein Rottenmeier to me and I love her for it.
> 
> I have divided it in two parts because it's damn huge.
> 
> Enjoy (the angst)!

June 26th 1995

Three knocks at the door.

Sirius dropped the dirty pan in the water, letting it sink with a splash. Drops fell on the tattered trousers and on the frayed hem of his t-shirt. The slacks were too short for him, and the hem barely reached his ankle. He ignored them and walked towards the door; those protection spells worked so well he hadn’t been able to smell him. Sirius opened the door and stepped aside instinctively to let Remus in. He crossed his arms and wiggled his eyebrows as to remind him of something.

Sirius blinked, confused, then understood: “Ah, whatever, Remus. I am going short on dirty, embarrassing questions.”

“I am sure you will never get at the bottom of it, Sirius.” His tone was dry, one eyebrow raised.

Sirius nibbled at his mouth, tutting, uncapable to hide his smile. Remus leaned one shoulder against the door frame and his thin shirt crumpled slightly.

“Please, take your time, it’s only twenty-eight degrees here. If I were a Death Eater, I would have hexed you just out of frustration for making me rot.”

“What was the first Shakespeare’s play you made me read?”

Remus lifted his eyebrows and Sirius smiled at his surprise: “ _Hamlet_ , of course.”

“Come in, you tosser.” Sirius stepped back, then turned to get back to the kitchen sink: he was sure that the pan was salvageable. He had never been good at housekeeping spells, never needed them at the Blacks or at the Potters, where house elves – albeit treated differently – did all the work, and after… well, it wasn’t as if a twenty-year-old’s apartment was supposed to be clean, right? Then, Azkaban and caves: housework wasn’t really his first thought. Remus’ cottage though… Remus was tidy and organized and Sirius felt bad messing things up. And he had time. The bloody pan just needed elbow grease. Or maybe Sirius needed to focus on something he could deal with. Like burnt pans.

“Where did that come from?” Remus’ voice reached him muffled through the bathroom door. Sirius smiled when he heard the water starting to fill the tub. Another detail: tidy, organised and clean. Remus was all of that, mainly because – Sirius knew – he didn’t want to fit the stereotype of the dirty, savage-looking werewolf. It matched his controlled personality. Control was Remus’ password.

“What?” Sirius insisted on one particular spot.

“ _Hamlet_.”

“You made me think about drama with your monologue about heat wave and Death Eaters.”

Silence. Sirius felt the sloshing of the water in the bathtub and inhaled sharply. The sponge was almost completely used up, he ought to change it.

“Charming.” Remus said, sarcastic.

Sirius exhaled, then laughed, then went back scrubbing, trying not to think too much about Remus’ body in the tub.

 

*

 

 _sometime_ July 1978

“It’s not the Prefects bathroom but…”

“Sirius, it’s perfect. You didn’t have to…”

“It was a simple spell, I reckon I just flooded one neighbour’s living room.”

Laughs.

The bathtub looked a bit wonky and squashed in the space of a shower, but if you stepped into it you would have find out that it was as big as a normal one. A simple spell. Not so simple, really, but he didn’t feel the need to brag when Remus was around.

“I still cannot believe we have an apartment.”

 

*

 

July 1st 1995

“It cannot go on like this.” Sirius dropped the embroidered curtain after following with his eyes the limping figure of Alastor Moody walking down the walkway and then on the main road, before disapparating.

He turned towards Remus when he didn’t answer. He still held a glass of Firewhisky – how many did he have? Sirius didn’t pay attention – his hazel eyes staring at the embroidery as if he didn’t really see it. Sirius followed his gaze: the curtain seemed worn, like almost everything else in the house, but it was still pretty: little daisies decorated the hems. They weren’t something you would expect in a bachelor’s accommodation, but Sirius guessed they were there before he arrived. Maybe Remus’ mother had sawn them. Maybe that was why he kept them.

“Remus.” He said.

He started, his eyes refocusing on Sirius: “Pardon? Sorry, I spaced out.”

“This, it cannot go on like this.” Sirius gestured towards the window.

“What?” Remus’ attention seemed diverted. He gulped down the whisky and moved to the table to tidy up the mess of maps and parchment they had accumulated.

“People coming and going from the house. Someone will notice.” He paused. “Your neighbours already noticed. I heard them gossiping and chatting today.”

Remus lifted his eyes from the mess, his voice was slightly different when he spoke: he sounded mildly irritated: “You went to the village? Sirius, I already told you, people may recognise you, you were on Muggle news last year.”

“I went out as Padfoot.” It came out sharper than he intended but Remus didn’t flinch.

“You have to be more cautious.”

Sirius dismissed the sentence with a wave of his hand: “The point is, Remus, they start noticing that odd people come and go from your house at strange times of the day. If Muggles notice, they gossip, and when gossip starts, you don’t know who will hear it.”

Remus licked his fingertips and put one of the candles out pressing the wick between his thumb and index. Sirius knew he was perfectly able to do it with a bored gesture of his hand, but sometimes Remus liked doing things the Muggle way, it probably made him feel more down-to-earth.

“It’s temporary.” He said, without lifting his gaze, “Dumbledore will set up a system of safe houses, like last time. When things will be settled, we will be more organised.”

Sirius scoffed: “Because last time worked so well.” He said darkly.

This time, Remus winced, took a deep breath, then went back rolling up one of the parchments, without answering to Sirius’ provocation.

“I’m just saying,” Sirius walked to the table and started helping him, just to find something to do with his hands, “I think it’s dangerous. Death Eaters…”

“If Death Eaters wanted to, they would have already blown up this house.” He interrupted, “It’s not really a secret that this was my father’s last address.” There was a tone of finality in Remus’ words, as if he didn’t want to talk about that anymore.

But Sirius knew it was important. He knew they had to do something. _He_ had to do something. He couldn’t stand to stay still, and waiting, and watch Remus coming and going to look for old acquaintances to recruit for the same, lost cause – who was left, really? In the week he’d stayed there, his main job had been, well, housekeeping. And the occasional retelling his story to the members of the Order that had appeared in the fireplace or that had come by for short, hushed meetings. _Lie low at Lupins._ Dumbledore had said. And he had, Merlin’s beard, but he felt he had to do something more than tie his hair and occasionally shop for groceries when the Tesco at the village wasn’t too crowded.

Once the parchments were all gathered and filed, Remus made them disappear with a flick of his wand, then looked at Sirius as though expecting him to say something else.

 _You are just like a dog with his bone_ , James had said once, _you cannot let things go_.

_Fuck you, Prongs._

He needed to think. He grabbed a pack of fags and headed to the backdoor.

“Sirius,”

“I’m just going to feed Buckbeak.” He mumbled, without looking at him. He pulled down the handle, but the door didn’t open. Bloody protection spells. He turned to get his wand, _where the hell did he put it?_ He still wasn’t used to have a wand again: it wasn’t his original one – that had been broken in half when he had been sent to Azkaban without a trial – and it didn’t feel quite right yet. After thirteen years without being able to channel his magic in the familiar stick, everything felt a bit out of his control. Sometimes he produced accidental magic – like children do. He had lost count of how many oil lamps had exploded in his distracted attempts to do basic things like turning the lights off at night-time.

“Here.” Remus handed it to him, holding it by the tip.

It was fifteen inches, dogwood – he imagined Dumbledore had fun with the choice – and dragon heart strings – like his first one. Sirius nodded to thank him and curled his fingers around the handle. He could feel the magic buzzing softly in his veins, like a radio trying to get a signal. He pointed the wand at the door and mumbled a few counterspells. The door shook violently but the glass didn’t shatter like the other twelve times he’d tried. _Call it a win_.

Sirius stepped out and took a mouthful of the salty, marine breeze. Buckbeak was dozing off in a corner of the messy back garden. Sirius reached him and sit on the ground, leaning against his warm side: the temperature was still high, and the earth felt warm, after being exposed to the sun all day.

“You are getting lazy, old friend.”

Buckbeak screeched quietly and shifted.

Sirius chuckled darkly: “Alright, alright, we both are.”

He tilted his head back, looking at the stars. It was a beautiful night. The sky looked a bit out of focus because of the bubble of protective spells that isolated them and prevented Muggles from noticing a huge half-eagle-half-horse beast in the backyard of the polite son of dearly departed Lyall Lupin. Who knew what they would have thought of him if they had noticed he was harbouring a fugitive? As Padfoot, he had eavesdropped a conversation between the old lady that lived at the other extremity of Bridgend and her friend. She had asked if she was the only one who had noticed that odd bloke who was hanging out at sweet Remus’ place.

“He must be a _friend_.” The other woman had answered with a knowing look.

“Not that kind of friend, surely!” Remus’ neighbour had protested, scandalised.

“Well, he isn’t married, is he? At that age! And have you seen that man’s hair? He must be one of _those men_ from the city.”

“Shut up, Aberfa. Lyall was a good man. I am sure young Lupin is just helping out a stray.”

At that point, a flock of pigeons had attracted Padfoot’s attention and the conversation suddenly had seemed less interesting. Thinking about it, later, overcoming the initial amusement at the hints about the nature of their relationship, Sirius had started brooding over it: if the old hags were upset by him, how would they react to Mad-Eye Moody? He had already come by three times that week. Moreover, Remus had left his job at the local library – _They were going to sack me anyway after the next moon_. – and he had spent the precedent week coming and going in the company of the most peculiar crowd. Lyall Lupin’s cottage was isolated but not _that_ isolated. Moreover, despite what Remus had said about Death Eaters already knowing about the place, Sirius thought they were just organising themselves, regrouping, after the Triwizard Tournament half-fiasco – not differently from what Dumbledore was doing with the Order: recruiting, establishing a web of contacts and spies. When they would attack– Sirius closed his eyes and a huge, intimidating Dark Mark made of green smoke hovered menacingly over the quiet image of the starry sky above the cottage. Besides, there was the Ministry business: Dumbledore didn’t want Fudge to know he was plotting behind his back, didn’t he? And a visit of the Magical Law Enforcement for violations to the Statue of Secrecy…

“You forgot the food.”

Sirius flinched and opened his eyes: Remus was looming over him, an old-looking plastic bucket in his hand.

“Yeah. I… maybe I should fly him around a bit.” He only did it once since he arrived: on the new moon, when the sky had been dark and cloudy. It had been three days before: Remus had been away, at a meeting with a new recruit of the Order, an Auror of the Ministry.

“Sirius,”

“Stop ‘Siriusing’ me, Remus.”

He sighed and abandoned the bucket in a corner, keeping an eye on Buckbeak who was becoming twitchy at the smell of fresh blood. To distract him, he bowed a bit awkwardly without breaking the eye contact, and Buckbeak bowed back absent-mindedly. Remus sat beside Sirius, scratching the head of the hippogriff with a hand.

“Why are you so fidgety?” he asked calmly.

Sirius glared at him. He wasn’t. He just didn’t understand because nobody else was.

“I’m not fidgety.” He said, through gritted teeth. “As usual, nobody takes me ser– oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Remus chuckled, hiding his smile with a hand.

“Forgive me,” his eyes were a light shade of brown “it has been a while, since I heard that joke.”

Sirius was suddenly torn between fondness and pain. He cleared his throat.

“Yeah, well, been old for a while too.”

They stood quiet for some minutes, the only noises were the soft shrieks of Buckbeak, that was becoming restless and scratching the dirt, and the chirrup of nocturnal insects. Sirius didn’t know if they would ever manage to have a conversation that didn’t end in silence and in painful memories. Probably not. Also, if they abandoned that careful tiptoeing around each other, they would probably make something blow up – the house or their heads. After that night in the Shack, after those first, glorious moments in which everything seemed right in the world – Harry was going to come live with him, Peter was going to be shipped to Azkaban, Sirius’ name was going to be cleared and Remus… Remus’ arms had enveloped him in such a tight embrace that Sirius had thought his bones would break and he would be glad if they did – everything had disappeared. Crumbled down. He should have been used to it, really, at that point. He opened the pack of cigarettes and took one out, balancing it between his lips. He gave Remus a sideways glance: he seemed calm and collected, but Sirius did recognise the nervous irritation that grew sometimes under his skin. It was often oriented towards him, even if Remus tried to hide it. He lifted his wand to light the cigarette and hoped not to set fire to his eyebrows. Remus was faster and snapped his fingers. They looked at each other: it was a trick Sirius had taught him a long time ago. He breathed out the smoke directly in Remus face and he coughed, pushing against his shoulder with his own.

“Tosser.”

Even Buckbeak seemed to side with Remus and looked at Sirius with reproach.

They shared the fag in silence, until it was consumed. Sirius threw the butt over the fence, but the protection spell made it bounce back inside and it got lost in the wild fennel bushes near the right end side.

“Your neighbour thinks we are shagging.”

“Dumbledore values you, Sir– _what_?”

They had talked at the same time.

Sirius burst into a laugh at Remus’ comical expression. His eyes were huge, and his moth hung open and he had stopped petting Buckbeak, so his hand was awkwardly mid-air.

“How do you know?!”

“Told you I overheard them talking.” He shrugged, taking another fag from the paper package. He felt better after one, less nervous, less ready to jump at every sentence. Even Remus mentioning Dumbledore didn’t get to his nerves as it would normally. It wasn’t like he didn’t trust Dumbledore – he did. He had followed his orders without complaints not even a fortnight before, but they hadn’t heard from him since. Remus had combed half Great Britain to gather those poor wretches that had survived the First War, barely slept, had his house invaded by people at every time of the day and the night and Dumbledore had not even bothered to send a thank you card. He looked at the cigarette and put it back in the package.

Remus groaned: “What did they say? And who are _they_ anyway? Mrs Griffiths?”

Sirius was quite enjoying this flustered version of Remus; he had almost forgotten it: “I guess, the one at the end of the road. Her friend is as old, curly hair, always crocheting.”

Remus looked horrified: “Oh no, that’s Miss Davies. She is a nightmare. Used to sneak Harmonies in Psalms copies and run.”

Sirius lifted his eyebrows: “Miss? And she dared being shocked that – listen – at your _age_ ,” he emphasised, feigning outrage “you aren’t _married_. So, you must be – how is the word?”

The woman didn’t say it explicitly, but a part of him wanted to hear Remus speak with that pretty accent he had sometimes – when he was tired, exhausted.

“Hoyw.” Remus said flatly.

Sirius smirked.

It was fun seeing Remus so preoccupied because of something so insignificant. The problem with Remus had always been that he cared too much about what people thought of him. Of course, that had been because he was constantly judged: for his shabby clothes, his scars, his sickly appearance.

He nudged him, trying to cheer him up: “Apparently, I’m one of _those men_ from the city.”

Remus frowned: “What men?”

Sirius shrugged, he had no idea: “Those men, Moony. With the _hair_.” He wiggled his eyebrows and finally Remus grinned, shaking his head.

“If it makes you feel better, Mrs Whatever didn’t believe you are a nothing but sweet Remus who takes care of a charity case.”

Remus bumped his heel against Sirius’ ankle, and he noticed they were both barefoot: “Well, I kind of am.” He said, teasingly.

Sirius tackled him.

Bantering with Remus was odd and strangely familiar. Sirius felt younger, lighter, when they did. It felt like years had been lifted from his shoulders, as if he could forget for a moment that he was a convicted criminal on the run, that he had lived of rats for a year, that he was putting Remus in danger by staying at his place as though he was an old acquaintance couch surfing for a little while. Also, he could forget they were faking familiarity. They were just too scared to face everything left unsaid between them. They pretended like the weak excuses they exchanged in the Shack were enough to solve fourteen years of silence and pain and loneliness. It was easy to forget, when Remus laughed from the heart – it was raspy and throaty, like he wasn’t used to it – , begging him to stop tickling. It was like going back to Hogwarts.

Sirius spared him when he yielded. He abandoned himself on the dry ground, eyes up to the sky. They were both breathless, as if they had run a marathon. Bloody fags. Somewhere, to his right, he could hear the squelching sound of Buckbeak munching the dead rats Remus had brought outside. He had waited until they were both distracted and took the chance. Smart chap. Well, no flying for that night.

Sirius tilted his head and noticed with some surprise that Remus was looking at him.

“What?”

The atmosphere had suddenly changed.

Sirius’ breath hitched in his throat. Remus’ eyes were slightly unfocused – for the alcohol, maybe. He asked himself again how many shots of whisky Remus had gulped down without thinking, that night: eyes on the maps and Mad-Eye muttering of spies and Ministry business. He knew he had no right to question it, nor he wanted to. He couldn’t really imagine how it had been for Remus. Sometimes, there was no other way to cope with everything, he knew it very well.

He had missed it in Azkaban: being able to forget, for a few hours, to escape at least his own mind prison. The truth was, you cannot really escape from Azkaban, not even after you actually manage to, first prisoner ever to break the gates and everything. Even after two years, sometimes he opened his eyes in the middle of the night, lying on Remus’ worn out sofa and couldn’t see anything but darkness. Sometimes he sneaked out in the lawn and curled up against Buckbeak to try and get some sleep and then lied about waking up early to snatch a couple of freshly baked scones from the bakery in the village as Padfoot. A part of him thought that if he killed Peter, he would gladly go back in prison because in the end it was where he belonged, because he _had_ killed Lily and James, persuading James to choose Peter as Secret Keeper out of arrogance, and he _had_ betrayed Remus thinking he was the spy.

“Sirius,” Remus voice came soft, a bit fuzzy “even if you are angry all the time and we have disagreements and we do not really talk because there is too much unsaid that…” he paused again “let’s say, that would change things”   _if they abandoned the careful tiptoeing around each other, they would probably make something blow up – the house or their heads_ “and I do not really know where we stand… even if maybe we do not know each other anymore…” his eyes looked very bright now “I am happy you are here.”

Remus’ voice was soft and hoarse at the same time. Sirius’ ears were whistling. Buckbeak was still munching and he could hear all the small bones breaking under his powerful jaws. Sirius felt seventeen again, as though they were at Hogwarts, after the full moon, waiting for the sun to rise. He felt like he knew Remus better than he knew himself, like before, when his life was made of rock-hard certainties: loyalty, friendship, courage. Impetuosity.

He propped himself on his elbow and kissed him.

Remus inhaled sharply and instinctively lifted a hand to push him away, but then he relaxed visibly, and that same hand curled on the front of Sirius’ shirt, grasping the thin fabric, pulling him closer. Sirius felt his palms sliding on the dry ground, he would probably have scratches there soon, but it wasn’t as he cared. He was kissing Remus. That thought alone was enough to make him blank on everything else. He was kissing Remus after almost fourteen years and it felt glorious. It probably wouldn’t win Best Kiss 1995 at those American Awards he had watched on Remus’ old telly: it was uncomfortable and messy, and their teeth kept colliding in odd ways, but it was mind-blowing.

Suddenly Buckbeak made a low shriek and they broke off abruptly, almost at the same time. The back of Remus’ head thumped against the yellow grass and he frowned. Sirius sat up, his breath laboured. Buckbeak nudged him with his head and an animalistic, upset part of Sirius really craved chicken. He patted him, quickly, making a face when he noticed his hand was now sticky with the blood of dead rats. Sexy.

Remus got up and cleared his throat, he sported an odd expression that Sirius wasn’t able to read properly: was he angry?

“We should,” he croaked, then tried again “We should get in. Buckbeak has eaten, you can bring him out for a flight tomorrow. It is supposed to be cloudy.”

Sirius nodded, still on his knees, unable to do anything else. He felt dizzy.

“I’ll be there in a minute.” He managed, when it became painfully clear that Remus was waiting for an answer.

He nibbled at his lower lip, then nodded, turning his back on Sirius and walking inside.

Sirius breathed out and went back stroking Buckbeak sticky front.

 _You are just like a dog with his bone_ , _you cannot let things go_.

_Shut up, James._

 

*

 

 _sometime_ autumn 1978

He was drunk and he was kissing Remus Lupin.

 

*

 

July 2nd 1995

A letter from Harry did the trick.

It arrived the following morning, while Sirius was checking on the hash browns like his life depended on it and Remus was showering. Checking on the hash browns and Remus showering were two things closely connected.

The night before, Sirius hadn’t returned inside the house. He had changed into his Animagus form and curled against Buckbeak. Sleeping as Padfoot was easier: his thoughts were less complex, and he managed to fall into the arms of Morpheus more quickly. When he had entered the kitchen, the morning after, Remus was defrosting hash browns with a charm Sirius had never heard before. He had lifted an eyebrow as to say: _No scones?_ and Sirius had understood that he knew all along.

He had muttered a good morning and went showering as quickly – and coldly – as possible.

When he had come back to the kitchen, Remus took his place, a silent order to supervise the hash browns.

Harry’s letter arrived in the precise moment in which Sirius started losing his focus – he could still feel Remus’ chapped lips against his, but his head was messed up and he couldn’t understand if he was remembering this kiss or the ones’ in his fragmented memories. The window was open – outside it was already more than twenty-five degrees and soon they ought to re-do the refrigeration charms because the heat would become unbearable during the day. Sirius just hoped he wouldn’t trigger a snowstorm like the first time he’d tried. Hedwig slipped inside with a whirl of feathers and Sirius smiled, offering her some stale bread drenched in milk. She seemed resented. Sirius rolled his eyes: “We cannot be all wealthy like the Potters’ heir.” He told her, amused.

The letter was short and mostly composed of questions: Where was Voldemort? Did he already kill? The Muggle news didn’t say anything about odd disappearances. What was Dumbledore doing to stop him? When could they meet? Was he safe? What about the Death Eaters? The Dursleys were horrible as usual, they had locked away his Firebolt and all of his school things. Sirius’ eyes lingered on the short sentence Harry had written about his broom. He thought about Crookshanks and the day in which he had bought Harry the Firebolt. He thought about Hedwig who was cooing unsatisfied at the top of the kitchen counter. _We cannot be all wealthy like the Potters’ heir._ He thought about how unfair was that Harry had to live with those horrible Muggles. _Once my name’s cleared… if you wanted a… a different home…_

There was a house, old and abandoned and full of magic in the centre of London. He wasn’t thinking about that when he had proposed Harry to go live with him, but…

“Remus!” he exclaimed, abandoning the owl and the hash browns, and grasping the letter more forcefully.

He banged on the bathroom door a little too vehemently.

“What the hell, Sirius?” came from the inside.

“I know it. I know a house. A convenient one. I reckon I can…” he stopped “Can you come out, for Merlin’s sake? Or shall I keep yelling at a closed door?”

A sloshing sound. Then the tapping sound of bare feet on the tiles, shuffling. The door opened slightly: “What are you talking about?”

Sirius pushed against the creaking wood and stormed inside the small bathroom. There was barely space for the two of them. He waved the letter: “Last time we were scattered. The Order kept changing places to meet and they found us every time, in the end, because we couldn’t be sure that all our meetings were secret, right?”

Remus’ expression hardened: “They weren’t because Peter diligently reported to Voldemort.” He said, coldly.

“That too.” Sirius agreed “But also because we were all over the place. We used to put out general spells just for the occasion, quickly. We almost never managed to be there, the whole Order at the same time, at meetings. We had documents disseminated everywhere, even without Wormtail I am sure some of them ended up in the wrong place.”

Sirius could see that Remus did not see the point yet, but he didn’t say anything and so he went on.

“We need headquarters. Not only safe houses.”

Remus opened and closed his mouth: “I guess,” he said slowly, hesitating. Sirius knew he was reflecting as fast as possible, trying to find a reason for which having headquarters could not be the best idea.

_He always thinks too much, doesn’t he, Padfoot?_

Sirius was growing impatient, little James in his head was right, it wasn’t the moment to overthink stuff. _Come on, Moony._

“But I cannot imagine anyone offering their home for such a perilous… and anyway Death Eaters know where most of the members of the Order live.”

“I do. I can offer a place.” He said quickly “The Death Eaters would never think about it, at least not immediately.”

“What place?” Remus asked, confused.

Sirius knew he was thinking about the apartment they had shared in Camden during the war. He wondered what had become of it after his arrest. But no, that wasn’t the point.

“Grimmauld Place.” Sirius said triumphantly. “I am the last male heir of the line, even if disowned. I am pretty sure the house will recognise me as its legitimate owner.”

Remus opened his mouth, then closed it. Sirius could hear the gears moving in his brain: he was thinking as quickly as possible, trying to find faults in his plan. When he spoke, his voice was soft, calibrated: “But Sirius, do you really want to go back there?”

Sirius took a step back. Flashes exploded in his mind: snakes and silver and heavy rugs, Regulus crying, his mother swearing, the cold stare of Orion Black, half-naked Muggle girls’ photographs up on his bedroom wall, an old cellar, a trunk thrown in the middle of the road, red and gold fabric scattered around the pavement, drenched with rain. He shrugged: “Don’t worry about me. You know it’s a good plan.” He tried to match Remus’ controlled behaviour.

When he spoke, Remus’ voice was the most sincere, full of emotion sound Sirius had heard in years: “I always worry about you, Padfoot.”

In that moment, Sirius became painfully aware of the fact that Remus was naked except for a pale-yellow towel that had seen better days. His gaze lingered: his chest was beaded in droplets and was covered in scars, but not as many as Sirius would have expected after fourteen years. He remembered that once he could recognise every one of them, he knew where each one of them came from. Now they all entangled in an unrecognisable spider web. His skin was pale, and he was thin, he could see he blue lines of his veins. He felt the irresistible need to grab his wrist to check his pulse. He didn’t realise he had acted until he felt the constant, familiar sound against his thumb. Remus’ fingers – his long, bony fingers, always with well-trimmed nails – caressed gently his skin. Sirius pulled and Remus lost his balance and they collapsed one against the other, almost slipping on the floor. They kissed fiercely and Sirius laughed against Remus mouth when he started having problems in touching Sirius and keeping the towel up around his hips at the same time. Remus mumbled something that sounded like _Git._ and Sirius tilted his head back, smirking cockily: “It’s coming off anyway.”

“You,”

Remus pushed him in the general direction of the couch, that was the nearer horizontal surface that wasn’t the floor. Sirius stumbled back and took off his – well, Remus’ – shirt.

“are”

They both fell badly on the sofa and Sirius bumped his head against a small table with short legs that had stopped being trendy in the early fifties. He groaned. Remus looked at him as to say _That was well deserved_. Then he straddled him, so Sirius’ brain didn’t get enough blood to think of a proper comeback.

“an arrogant prick.” He concluded, before leaning in to kiss him.

It wasn’t gentle, or romantic. It had never been, with them. They never had the time to do things properly, to spend precious moments studying each other’s bodies, concentrating on what felt good, what felt _really_ good, and what felt just okay. Sirius had never thought anything could feel just okay with Remus, anyway. He moaned when his teeth scratched his abdomen, when his trousers and pants were taken off and Remus’ mouth was on his prick, hot and wet and, well, surely not _just okay_. He wasn’t going to last. He thought _Stop him, you have time, take your time, stop him_. But they never had. They still didn’t, in a way. The conversations that they were avoiding were looming over them.

“Moony.” He managed, rough and breathless, a hand on his shoulder “Up here.” He babbled.

Remus lifted his head and Sirius had to close his eyes as a rush of arousal went through his body like a lighting bolt. Somewhere, a lamp exploded. Remus smiled and shook his head slightly. Sirius’ hand was sweaty and slipped on his skin as he tried to drag him up. _I want to touch you. I want to remember how it feels._

The hash browns burnt.

 

*

 

 _sometime_ winter 1979 or spring 1979 or summer 1979 or autumn 1979

Remus’ eyes were closed, and Sirius’ left hand was pressed against his mouth. He was kissing his neck, just below his Adam’s apple and his hand was moving quickly on his shaft. Sirius liked the rush of this, the adrenaline – or was it magic? – that run in his veins at the thought that anyone could walk on them. But Sirius liked it best when Remus’ eyes widened – dark and glossy and looking up at the night sky – and he could feel his mouth moving against his palm, and his limbs tense and…

 

*

 

Sirius spent the afternoon scrubbing the pan, while Remus kept busy flooing his head through the chimneys of half-Great Britain. Dumbledore’s Patronus – a majestic silver phoenix – appeared around teatime, bringing his master’s answer. Remus looked at him when the solemn voice of the Headmaster announced he was going to visit. _Are you sure?_ His eyes were asking. Sirius nodded and Remus gave the go-ahead. Sirius looked at the dark red spot near his clavicle and wondered if he should tell him before Dumbledore arrived. A part of him didn’t want to. He wanted exactly to see the look on Dumbledore’s face when he would notice it. He wanted to look him in the eye, challenging him to say something. But then he thought about Remus and his desire to always look presentable and collected. He cleared his throat as an incorporeal Patronus wriggled out from the tip of Remus’ wand and disappeared and tapped on his own cleavage to make him understand. Remus’ cheeks became a pretty shade of pink. He pointed his wand at himself and murmured some enchantment without looking at Sirius.

As he was drying the pan, he thought about Remus’ words the night before: _Even if we don’t really talk…_ He thought about all the times he had reached Remus during the full moon, the year before, keeping it a secret from everyone else: Yorkshire, Avon, Cornwall, Surrey, Scotland. They almost never talked. He thought about the hurried apology at the Shack, their wands already aimed at Peter.

_Wouldn’t Sirius have told you they’d changed the plan?_

_Not if he thought I was the spy, Peter. I assume that’s why you didn’t tell me, Sirius?_

Remus’ tone had been practical, straightforward.

_Forgive me, Remus._

_Not at all, Padfoot, old friend._

He hadn’t looked him in the eye. Sirius wondered if it meant something. It was too fast. He wondered if twelve more years would be enough to forgive something like that.

_And will you, in turn, forgive me for believing you were the spy?_

_Of course_. He had said, automatically, his attention all focussed on killing Peter.

He looked at Remus, that was writing down something on a parchment with his regular handwriting.

_Will you, in turn, forgive me?_

_In turn._

Like they were bargaining. _Do ut des_.

His train of thoughts was interrupted by the arrival of Albus Dumbledore, coming out from the chimney in a prodigious blast of green flames. They both moved towards him automatically.

James’ voice crept back in his thoughts: _You are just like a dog with his bone_ , _you cannot let things go_.

 

*

 

July 3rd 1995

It was him and Remus and Alastor Moody and Albus Dumbledore.

They stood in the small square in front of numbers eleven and thirteen and Sirius tried to swallow the huge lump he felt in his throat. When he did, he felt Remus’ fingers gently stroke his knuckles. He didn’t look at him. He couldn’t think about that too: what it meant, what was going on with them. _I don’t know were we stand._ The stalemate was oddly familiar.

Sirius took a deep breath, then closed his eyes and focussed on his memories of the house: the grey stones, the door with the snake-shaped knocker, the marble steps.

 _Good man, Padfoot_. James’ voice said in his head.

Sirius opened his eyes and number twelve started taking space between number eleven and number thirteen, pushing and prodding with arrogant force. Very befitting.

“Expected something more from the Noble and Most Ancient, Sirius.” Moody growled with a half-smile that made his face look like an abstract painting. He limped towards the steps and Dumbledore followed with a benign expression, his deep blue robe floating like a cloud around him.

Sirius felt glued to the pavement. He was sweating, probably not a glamorous sight. It was so hot, even after dark. Last time he had been there, it had been summer too, even if it was considerably less warm. His stuff had been scattered all around the place, his trunk half smashed. His mother screaming at the top of her lungs from the door, Regulus looking at him with a stone-cold expression from the window at the top left. No less than five Muggles had peeked out of their windows and Orion had hexed them all. He imagined a whole squad of Obliviators had to be sent, after the eventful evening. Now, everything was dark and grim. Dumbledore had turned off all the street lights with his clever gadget.

 _Man up, Black_. James said in his head.

He closed his eyes again and noticed that his hands were shaking. A part of him, the beautiful teenager he once was, wanted nothing more than run. _James, James, where are you?_

“He’s dead.” He whispered to himself, “Been dead fourteen years.”

_Man up, Black._

Remus was still at his side and Sirius knew he had grasped his laboured murmuring: “Padfoot, you don’t have to. If you’re not ready…”

“I’m alright.” He lied without looking at him and caught up with Moody and Dumbledore “Let me.” He said, without inflection. They took a step back and Moody said something regarding the fact that he was hacking it, but Sirius wasn’t listening. He could feel Remus’ eyes on the back of his head. He knew he was worried.

 _Prongses and Padfoots make the mess, Wormtails cheer and Moonies worry._ This little James Potter in his mind was becoming more and more obnoxious.

He looked at the snake-shaped doorknocker and opened his mouth: “I’m Sirius Orion Black. The last living male heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.”

He was going to be sick. If Regulus could hear him. If his mother and father could hear him. _No bother,_ he thought bitterly, _they are all dead._

After several long seconds, the snake blinked lazily, as though waking up from a long sleep; it opened his eyes, green emeralds, and, at the same time, widened its jaws. Sirius knew what he had to do: he lifted his hand – and he was glad it wasn’t shaking anymore – and moved it closer to the snake bared fangs.

“Wait!”

Sirius flinched and turned towards Remus. They were all looking at him: Moody’s magic eye was whizzing crazily in its orbit, Dumbledore had that nerve-wreaking calm expression that could enrage even the least aggressive person in the world and Sirius was perplexed.

“You should not… what if it is poisonous?” He said, flustered, trying to collect himself. It wasn’t typical of Remus to lose control like this. _Moonies worry._ It wasn’t just that though. It was like Remus was irritated by something. “Let Moody do it.” his tone was impatient. He was looking at Sirius as though he was angry at him, like after the kiss. Sirius didn’t know what to make of it; he looked at him, quizzically.

“Don’t worry, Remus.” Dumbledore cut the tension with his calm voice “We are ready for every possible outcome.” He patted the pocket of his robe, that was decorated with a very complicated tangle of runes, as if to reassure Remus on the whereabouts of his wand, “And I believe if Sirius intervenes it will be much quicker and less dangerous.” Remus seemed to deflate a bit. Suddenly, Sirius found himself annoyed by the fact that he had become that pliant only when Dumbledore intervened. _Albus Dumbledore’s lapdog_. That’s what Death Eaters called Remus many years ago. Sirius shrugged, that was cruel to think. And, honestly, they all were.

Dumbledore turned to Sirius: “Sirius, if you please.”

He nodded without thinking.

 _Precisely_.

Sirius eyed Remus with a defiant glare, before turning, chin lifted, but Remus just raised his eyebrows in response, frowning, and, all of a sudden, he recognised his expression.

 

*

 

 _sometime_ 1978 or 1979 or 1980

“Why do you always have to do things like that?”

“Just patch me up, Remus.”

Sirius gnashed. He was breathing with difficulty. His left arm was covered in blood: long, deep cuts were splitting it open from shoulder to wrist.

“You weren’t supposed to attack, you reckless git.” Remus was pale and his wand hand was shaking “You should do it yourself.” He hissed.

“Shut up and do it, Moony.” Sirius growled. The pain was unbearable, his flesh was sizzling like meat on a barbecue.

Remus looked at him in the eye: his irises were almost yellow and burned with rage – and worry. He almost yelled the incantation and Sirius screamed.

His wounds closed in a matter of seconds – it probably would have hurt a lot less if Remus hadn’t been that blunt in casting the spell. They looked at each other, both panting.

Sirius leaned on his other elbow and looked tentatively at his blood-stained skin. It was a lot of blood. He felt dizzy and at the same time full of adrenaline. His heart beat furiously in his chest, he could feel his magic tingling at the tip of his fingers.

“Fucking apologise, Sirius.” Remus spitted out.

Sirius lifted his gaze: Remus was still tense, his wand squeezed in his fist, his sweaty locks curled slightly at the tips. Too much energy under Sirius’ skin, he was bursting with it. He smirked and grabbed Remus by his hair with his blood-stained hand. Their lips collided against each other and, soon enough, everything else.

 

*

 

Rage and worry. Sirius felt his skin tingling. His favourite version of Remus: furious and beautifully concerned. He tried to ignore the fact that suddenly his chest felt much warmer. There was something seriously wrong with him. Pun intended.

_I’m happy you are here._

“A child’s play, Moony.” He winked and, without any further ado, pushed his fingertip against the snake silvery fangs, without taking his eyes off Remus.

It didn’t hurt, it was really just a sting, but the snake draw blood until all the enchantments in the door lifted: it sounded like gears moving and clicking and, at some point, what sounded like the clatter of a chain. When silence was restored, the eyes of the snake had become sapphires. Sirius forced himself not to roll his eyeballs. _Sapphires like blue blood_. Sickening.

When he drew back his hand, he felt quite woozy. He wobbled slightly but pushed the door anyway: “Stay behind me.” He said automatically, but Moody moved him aside with his staff and took the first step in.

“I’ve put in Azkaban more members of your family than you can ima–“

“Alastor!” Dumbledore warned, but it was too late.

Everything happened very quickly. The snake-shaped doorknocker attacked, wrapping its silver coils around Moody’s neck. Sirius’ eyes widened when he saw Remus reacting and grasping the snake with his bare hands.

“Remus, no!”

Too late. The cursed silver burned Remus’ palms and he recoiled, yelling, and cradling his hands against his chest. Moody was fighting against the snake, his short, scarred fingers trying to slip between the coils and his own neck, so to create some space. Sirius looked at the skin of his palms and fingertips reddening, horrified.

“Sirius,” Dumbledore’s voice was dark but steady. He had drawn his wand and looked ready to act, but he was staring at him with his twinkling blue eyes. “It’s your house, you can make it stop.”

As if drawn by an invisible force that prompted him to perform the right moves, Sirius lifted his right hand, were the wounds inflicted by the snake were still visible against his fingertip. Once he spotted the head of the snake, he cradled it with his fingers. Immediately, the reptile wrapped itself around Sirius’ hand and then his wrist. The curse did not work on him. He was blood. Once tight around his forearm the snake transformed back in a lifeless object. Sirius looked at it with disdain, then shook his arm until the creepy bracelet clattered on the last marble step, before rattling down all the way to the pavement; there, it became smoke and vanished. When Sirius turned back towards the black door, the doorknocker was back there, as though nothing had happened.

Mad-Eye took a long sip from his flask, flashed out of the blue, his breathing laboured. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, muttering to himself. His hands were still covered in sores, but he didn’t seem to mind. Sirius turned towards Remus: Dumbledore was mumbling some healing spell and the wheals on his palms were already disappearing.

“Are you…?”

“I’m fine.” Remus smiled weakly, trying to look reassuringly. He opened and closed his fists, then curled his long fingers around his wand.

Sirius’ heart was pumping blood at an unsteady rhythm, it kept missing beats.

Dumbledore looked at Sirius: “Please, Sirius, get in first, so that we can all get cover.”

Sirius felt the anger mounting in his stomach: Dumbledore kept talking to him as though he was a child, it was infuriating. He stepped in anyway, following orders, like the good soldier he had always been.

_A bitter old hag, Padfoot._

He couldn’t wait for them to get it over with the spell, so that he could be left alone.

He stopped in the middle of the entrance hall. The room was pitch black and smelled of dampness and neglect which, funnily enough, were the sensations Sirius connected with his childhood. Dumbledore made a swift movement and suddenly several balls of light illuminated the room. Sirius would have preferred it stayed dark. Memories started flooding his head, one worse than the other. He wanted to laugh: of course those were limpid and clear, there wasn’t anything joyful in them, nothing for the Dementors to suck away. He took another step and suddenly a cold, dreadful voice chilled Sirius to the bone.

“Look who dared come back.”

That wasn’t possible. She was dead. He looked around, frantically.

“Calm down, boy.” Moody growled “It’s just a portrait.”

Only then, Sirius noticed the life-sized painting of a nasty looking old woman with a black cap: his mother. It was framed by dark moth-eaten curtains. She looked way older than what he remembered, grey hair and yellowish skin. She looked at him with the outmost disgust. At least her expression was familiar. He basked in the idea that he could have been the cause of her premature ageing and smirked.

“Hello, mother.”

Walburga Black started screeching like a banshee: “Blood traitor! Abomination! You dare befoul the noble house of my fathers!” her face was deformed by anger and her eyes started roaming up and down the room “Scum! Vile filth! Half-breeds!”

Suddenly, it didn’t seem funny anymore.

“Shut up!” Sirius roared, and grasped one of the curtains, trying to close them on his mother’s mutt.

“Creatures of dirt! Mudbloods!”

With the corner of his eye, he spotted Remus seizing the other curtain and dragging it from the right side. After some moments of valiant fight, they finally managed to cover the painting. In the end, they were both breathless.

“Well,” said Dumbledore cheerfully “I’d say it’s a pleasure being welcomed in your house, Sirius.”

Despite his anger at the Headmaster, Sirius lifted a corner of his mouth.

“Authentic Black hospitality. This way.” He said, opening a door at his left.

The room smelled even more badly than the entrance hall. It was possible that something small and furry had died here. Sirius heard the tapping sound of insects crawling in the corners. Many years before, it had been a spacious sitting room where his father used to greet his guests, before leading them to the dining room to have luncheons or teas. Sirius remembered it being similar to a stuffy over decorated museum and that hadn’t changed much in the last twenty years or so. The walls were adorned with coat of arms and crests; the severe cupboards were full of the most horrendous relics. He moved his wand absent-mindedly and the windows opened wide. When he tried to do the same with the shutters, Dumbledore stopped him: “Better not to attract attention.”

Some of the witches and wizards in the paintings mumbled in their sleep. The old Headmaster looked at them with interest, then moved his wrist and shimmering purple blankets covered the portraits: “In this way we will have some privacy.” He explained, softly.

Sirius nodded and tapped his wand against the round tea table at the centre of the room: “Scourgify.” Most of the dust that had accumulated since his mother’s death disappeared.

“Alright. Let’s do this.” He rolled his sleeves to his elbows and looked at Dumbledore expectantly.

He vaguely remembered reading from huge books about the Fidelius Charm when they had decided to perform it to protect Lily, James and Harry. He had grasped the dynamics that time, but in the end, he hadn’t been there when it was performed, when James…

_I casted a damn cool Fidelius Charm, Pads. You should have been there._

_Yeah, I should’ve._

This time, he didn’t trust himself in doing it anyway. His magic was still too unstable, and the Charm was too complicated. The best thing would be if Dumbledore performed it for him, on him. The location of the headquarters of the Order was going to be revealed to him anyway. As much as he was angry, he knew that nobody could even remotely reach his level, probably not even Voldemort himself. If there was someone able to cast the best Fidelius possible – _Sorry, Prongs_ – that would be Dumbledore.

But Dumbledore looked at him above his half-moon spectacles: “I am afraid I will have to ask all of you to leave the room, Sirius.”

He frowned: “What? No, I mean, I have to be in the room, or it won’t…” he stopped, then realised with chilling awareness what was happening “You don’t want me to be Secret Keeper.” He articulated darkly.

His hands started to shake. The shutters rattled.

Remus looked at him warily. Mad-Eye’s right hand plunged in the pocket of his long cloak – it was thirty degrees, how could he even… –, grasping his wand without any doubt.

“I merely think that the Order of the Phoenix is my responsibility and so is its headquarters.” Dumbledore spoke very quietly.

“I offered this to you. This is my contribution to the Order.” _Since you don’t allow me to do anything else._ Sirius closed his fists to prevent his hands from shaking too visibly.

“For which I am very grateful.” Dumbledore smiled, as if they were discussing the weather.

“Is this punishment?” he spit through gritted teeth.

“Why would I punish you, Sirius?”

The question was made with mild interest, as though Sirius had clogged all the toilets in the castle and Professor McGonagall had brought him in the Headmaster’s office to be told-off.

“Well,” the deadly calm in his own voice surprised Sirius too “last time I was involved in a Fidelius Charm my best friends were murdered, my godson made an orphan and I ended up in Azkaban for twelve years.”

The atmosphere got icy even if Sirius could feel the sweat drenching his shirt.

Dumbledore didn’t even flinch: “I had offered Lily and James to be their Secret Keeper. They preferred…”

“Me.” Sirius spit, as if the mere thought disgusted him “And I proved myself a terrible judge of character. This is why you don’t trust me, do you, Dumbledore?”

Remus stepped forward: “Sirius,”

“Stay out of it, Remus.” He pronounced coldly, without looking at him.

“I do trust you, Sirius.” Dumbledore was still impassive, but he radiated a sense of power that Sirius had seen around him only rarely “I simply believe it is best that the Order of the Phoenix remains entirely my responsibility.”

“Because you did such a great job last time.” Sirius hissed, cruelly.

Mad-Eye had drawn his wand: “Watch it, Black.”

Dumbledore raised a hand and shook his head: Moody lowered is arm.

“Look at you,” Sirius felt decades of pain and anger rumbling in his blood, “even the great Mad-Eye Moody eats from your outstretched hand.”

“Sirius,” Remus’ voice was drier.

Moody snarled.

He ignored them: “How many more, Dumbledore? The Order is your responsibility. Well you didn’t do much for the Order, did you? Do I have to remind you their names? I remember all of them, _all_ of them, I counted them like sheep to fall asleep, while I was in Azkaban, paying my price. Because I did pay it. And I would go back there right now to atone even more because nothing, nothing, not even an eternity in Azkaban could ever take away my guilt. But you,” he put all his loathing in that single pronoun “when did you ever pay? For Dorcas Meadowes,” he started counting them on his fingers “Caradoc Dearborn, Edgar Bones with his wife and children, Benjy Fenwick, Gideon Prewett, Fabian Prewett, Marlene McKinnon and her entire family,” he paused, before pronouncing the most painful names of his death list “James and Lily Potter. These are only the members of the Order that were killed in the last four months of war. You moved us like pawns on your personal chessboard. Let’s ship Remus to consort with werewolves.” He pointed in the general direction of north “Let’s push Sirius in the arms of his fucked up family.” He opened his arms, “Let’s have Hagrid talking with the giants!” He paused, then lifted a finger, like he was suddenly remembering something “Oh no, this last one is the new one! Doesn’t seem the style changed much.”

Moody had tried interrupting him a couple of times, Remus was holding his elbow so tight it hurt, struggling to drag him out of the room. Dumbledore didn’t even blink: “I remember all their names, Sirius.” He said, gravely “I make mistakes. In contrast to what most people believe, I am afraid, I am not infallible. But all your resentment won’t make me step back from this decision. I am grateful to you for offering this solution, but I will be Secret Keeper of the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. Unfortunately, there is nothing you can do to change my mind.” He looked at Moody. “Alastor, if you please.”

Moody limped where Sirius was still putting up a fight against Remus’ grasp and pushed him out of the room unceremoniously. Sirius stumbled in the hall and the door closed behind them. Moody was roaring at him and Remus was trying desperately to tame him, his mother’s portrait started screeching again (“Half-breed! Filth! Traitors of your blood!”).

James’ voice was sad when he repeated for the thousand time the same phrase that kept journeying around his head since he had left Harry in the Hospital Wing at the end of June: _You cannot let things go, can you, Sirius?_

Sirius laughed in his head – a manic, joyless laugh: stepping again in Grimmauld Place was exactly as he expected it to be. Memories and present time mixed up together. _Home sweet home_.

 

*

 

July 4th 1995

One of the things Sirius liked most about Remus was that he didn’t push. He had never been someone who asked lots of questions and who forced him to talk. That was James. James with his perfect family and perfect relationship with his parents and communication skills and _love_. Sirius had hated him for that. Envied him. _But that lasted such a short amount of time_. He forced himself to remember.

In his head, after Azkaban, even after almost two years, his memories were stretched or shrunk depending on their level of positivity. If they were really good memories – the first time Fleamont Potter called him son, Euphemia Potter fussing over him when he had sprained his ankle playing Quidditch in the summer holidays, James asking him to be his best man, running in the Forbidden Forest with the wolf, the stag and the rat, Remus’ face when he had seen Padfoot for the first time, holding baby Harry in his arms – they had shrunk like wool jumpers washed in the wrong way; to access them, Sirius had to really focus and often it resulted in frustration and headache. He wondered if he would recollect them clearly ever again. The bad memories – hating James for his perfect family, his life at Grimmauld Place, Regulus suddenly forgetting they were brothers, a long talk in Dumbledore’s office sitting beside Remus who refused to look him in the eye, the feeling of abandonment when finally James and Lily started dating, the acid suspicion of Remus’ betrayal, understanding what Peter really was, finding James and Lily’s bodies – oh that was all painfully clear. He could relieve any second just closing his eyes. That was why nights were better as Padfoot.

The door of the room creaked, and Sirius turned towards it.

“They are gone.” Remus said quietly.

It was almost midnight and it had been a frantic day.

The previous night, they had gone back to Remus’ cottage in Wales. They had barely slept, Sirius had stayed outside, leaning against Buckbeak, salty air in his lungs and stars above his head; Remus inside, in his room. At the break of the dawn, Remus hadn’t said a word as Sirius prepared Buckbeak for the journey to London. He had just performed a disillusionment charm on both of them and finally opened his mouth to tell him they would meet at the house.

After completing the Fidelius Charm, Dumbledore had been pristine: someone ought to constantly live in Grimmauld Place and since Sirius was still wanted, he was the one who was going to be its watchdog. Yes, he really used that word. His eyes had also twinkled. Sirius had felt the pressuring desire to rip his throat out with his canines. Remus had looked at him like he was expecting him to do it, but Sirius had just nodded.

 _You wanted to go back to prison_. Dumbledore’s eyes were saying. _Be careful what you wish for_.

Getting inside Grimmauld Place had been easier the second time, the house recognised him, and a tap of his wand sufficed. Members of the Order Sirius hadn’t seen for years – well, obviously – came and went all day. New ones introduced themselves with a shred of suspicion looming in their tight expressions. That tended to happen when people thought you betrayed the heroes of the Magical World for fourteen years. When looking for something to do in the kitchen – at least make some tea, for Merlin’s sake, anything to keep his hands from shaking – Sirius had found out with the outmost disgust that Kreacher, his family house elf, still lived there, and he didn’t harbour any more affection for him than he did when he was a child.

“Are you sleeping here?”

Remus looked around and didn’t seem particularly upset by the ugly room. Everything there reeked of Pureblood nonsense and dark magic.

Sirius scoffed: “No. This is Buckbeak’s room. In honour of my mother and her love for half-breeds.” Then he realised what he had said and hurried to add, “Fuck, sorry, I didn’t mean…”

Remus shook his head with a light smile. He didn’t seem bothered. Sirius wondered how many times he had heard the word in the last decade. A stiff silence fell on them; Sirius knew that they had to talk about so many things he had lost count. But Remus didn’t pressure. He never did.

“So, where shall I sleep?” Remus asked light-heartedly, burying his hands in the pockets of his woollen waistcoat. Sirius couldn’t help but smile: that was such teacher-y outfit. They used to mock him so much in school about the fact that he would become a Professor. Once, third year, they had spent a week announcing him in hallways as heralds because Flitwick had told him he would make a great teacher one day. He thought about Harry calling him Professor Lupin and he had to force himself not to laugh. A strangled sound came out instead and Remus’ expression changed.

“I mean, if you… want me here.”

“What? Of course I want… _what_?” he seemed to register only in that moment that Remus wanted to stay in Grimmauld Place.

“I thought,” Remus resumed his composure “you would fancy some company.”

He looked at him meaningfully and Sirius found himself astonished by the fact that he could understand the subtext. He and Remus… they had never been great at communication. _I am not James, but I am here._ He was saying. James had been the one involved in the drama with his family, Remus and Peter had just endured his mood swings and reckless initiatives. One more than the other.

For the first time, Sirius noticed the worn leather suitcase near the bedroom’s door. It had label: _Professor R. J. Lupin._

He smirked and nudged Remus as he crossed the threshold: “Let’s find an accommodation that befits your status, Professor.”

Remus made a sound but didn’t protest.

They climbed the stairs and Sirius feigned indifference, but his heart was pounding in his chest more strongly than ever. He longed for James and he felt guilty for it. Remus was there and he was alive, and he knew him. But James knew exactly what had happened. He was present when he had knocked at the Potters’ door and Fleamont Potter had opened it with a napkin tucked inside the collar of his shirt and found a drenched sixteen-year-old with a half-shattered trunk on his porch. James knew things that nobody else knew. Not even Remus. _But James is dead_. _He has been dead for more time than we have spent together_. He thought he had come to terms with that. Twelve years in prison and two years on the run are a lot of time. And it actually was easier, when he wasn’t so near people who reminded him of his murdered best friend. Being in the same room with Remus was painful enough – for more than one reason –, but when Harry was around… the first time he had seen him, Sirius had been extremely grateful it had been in his Animagus form, because even like that, the agony and the joy had been so excruciating he thought his heart would explode.

“It’s been a while.” Sirius said, facing the door to his bedroom. His name was still there, in silver letters. He pointed his wand to the doorknob: “Alohomora.” He said, clearly. The door opened with a creaking sound. It was dark and dusty but looked mostly the same. He walked to the window and opened it. A warm breeze whizzed inside, and Sirius felt his fingers itching to open the shutters too. He took a step back. Remus was still at the door.

“Get in,” said Sirius cheerfully “this is probably the only room that won’t try to kill you.”

Remus lifted a corner of his mouth and moved his wrist lazily. The candle scrubs in the sockets of the old chandelier lit up immediately and their trembling light suddenly reflected on the left wall: faded red and gold came back to life in all their glory: Griffyndor banners, cockades and even a couple of little flags, old photographs of motorbike models of the early seventies and a couple of posters of Muggle girls in bikinis. Sirius couldn’t help but smile broadly: his Permanent Sticking Charm had resisted.

Remus was smiling too, shaking his head helplessly: “You were a git.”

Sirius wiggled his eyebrows: “Gryffindor’s pride.”

Right beside a menacing roaring lion there was a photograph. Sirius’ smile dimmed slightly looking at it. He couldn’t remember who had taken it. He couldn’t remember exactly where they were, all four of them; there was snow and a tree in the background. It must have been a completely good memory, because the Dementors had taken it all. He swallowed as his eyes lingered on the two boys at the centre, realising that it was the first time in fourteen years that he looked at the smiling face of James Potter. He raised a hand towards the picture but let it fall by his side without touching the small figurines. In his head, James’ cocky grin overlapped with a terrified expression, crooked glasses and unfocused hazel eyes.

“It was the first Hogsmeade week-end after the Christmas holidays. Fifth year.” Remus said, a fondness in his voice that Sirius didn’t recognise. He looked at him, but Remus was still staring at the photograph.

“Mary took the picture. Mary McDonald. She was a year younger than us, she had a crush on you.” He scoffed, smiling “Well, every girl in Hogwarts had a crush on you.”

Sirius leaned against the wall with a half-smile: “Even some boys.” He said, knowingly.

Remus rolled his eyes and – thought Sirius – if he had been twenty years younger, he would have blushed, but he didn’t.

“Shut up.”

Sirius chuckled and made himself look at the photo again: “Seems like yesterday.” He said.

Remus’ expression tightened; he sighed and shook his head: “Seems like another lifetime.”

They looked at each other and Sirius motioned towards the bed, without averting his eyes: “We better get some sleep.” He said slowly, deliberately.

Remus glanced at the bed, then at Sirius. He seemed to consider the implications. Of course he did. _Moonies worry_. Finally, he placed his tattered suitcase near the old-fashioned wardrobe, and, without another word, he started unbuttoning his waistcoat.

 

*

July 6th 1995

“Molly and the children will be here tomorrow.”

Remus entered the kitchen with his hands full of old linens, half-eaten by moths. Sirius raised his eyes from a copy of the Prophet that Kinglsey Shacklebolt had left the night before. Harry was crazy, Dumbledore was senile, and the most pressing matter was to standardise the number of jellies inside every package of Bertie Botts’ All Flavoured Beans.

“I thought we could sort these out, see if they are salvageable.”

It was early morning and they were alone and there weren’t plans for anyone else to visit all day.

“Exciting.” Sirius commented, poking at the black and silver linens with the tip of his wand, a revolted expression on his face.

“I know, I always drag you in incredible adventures.” Remus muttered, throwing a book on housekeeping charms on the wooden table. “You could ask that house elf of yours to help out.”

Sirius buried himself behind the paper: “Still not on speaking terms with Kreacher.”

“Padfoot.”

“Moony.”

The paper rolled up by itself and levitated straight in Remus’ extended hand.

“Come on!” Sirius pouted shamelessly.

Remus pushed the tower of linens towards him: “Start sorting the linens out and maybe you’ll have back your paper for lunchtime.”

“You are a tyrant.” Sirius whined before lifting a hem with a disgusted expression “Cannot they do this by themselves when they arrive tomorrow?”

“Very welcoming, Sirius.” Remus commented, and started going through the book.

The sheets were almost all good to go, even if most of them had several series of little holes all over the fabric. They did their best to mend them with housekeeping charms, but once Sirius set a pillowcase on fire, Remus decided that it was better to have pierced linens than no linens at all. Then, they proceeded towards inspecting the rooms in which the kids would end up sleeping.

“How many children the Weasleys have?” asked Sirius “I remember Harry’s friend, Ron, and a tall one with a ponytail.”

Remus smiled: “That would be Bill, the oldest. He has finished Hogwarts, like Charlie and Percy. Percy has been my student, two years ago. A real swot. You would probably hate him. But we just get the younger ones,” he added cheerfully, as if they were organising a summer camp “the twins, Fred and George, big fans of the Marauders: they are the ones who had inherited the Map before Harry and cracked it; then Ron, Harry’s best friend, and Ginny, the only Weasley girl.”

Sirius smiled of Remus’ enthusiasm, he was starting to feel the excitement too: a full house would prevent him from brooding too much: “I like these Fred and George chaps. Did you teach to them all?”

Remus nodded: “To the last five, yes.” He smiled back, a bit sheepishly “They are all good kids.”

They stopped on the first landing and Sirius licked his lips, clapping his hands: “So, sleeping arrangements: Molly and Arthur, I guess, the troublemaker twins and Ron and Ginny? That would be three rooms, right? Should be enough.”

Remus patted the palm of his hand against his forehead: “Oh, no, I was almost forgetting: Hermione is coming too. I reckon she’ll share with Ginny.”

Sirius nodded, then realised the problem: “Two of them can take Regulus’ room.” He conceded, speaking carefully, waiting for Remus to panic. He had thought that Remus would try and move his things in Regulus’ room, if other people ended up staying in the house. He personally wasn’t bothered, he had never really cared about what people thought of him, of what he did, with whom he slept. Remus, on the other side, had always been extremely private and self-conscious. That _thing_ between them… it had always been harder on Remus than on him. He thought about Remus’ words: _I don’t really know where we stand_. Yeah, where?

But Remus just nodded thoughtfully, clearly thinking about it but not addressing the matter directly, and opened the door at their left with a flick of his wand: the room was dark and depressing like the rest of the house. The wallpaper was coming off the walls and a huge spider crawled under the wardrobe as they went in. Sirius made a face.

Remus didn’t seem concerned. He rolled his sleeves to his elbows: “Let’s separate the beds. Should be a simple Splitting enchantment and a bit of Transfiguration. I’ll do the charm, you do the transfiguring part.”

“You really believe in me, Remus. I want to remind you I just set fire to a pillowcase.”

Remus smirked and moved his wand in a sharp X. The bed split in half and Sirius, taken by surprise, shouted the first transfiguration spell that came to his mind and with a loud bang two identical beds appeared in front of them. Sirius stood surprised, the wand still clutched in his hand.

Remus had an obnoxiously knowing smile on his face.

“What was that?” Sirius was almost panting.

“You work better under pressure.” Remus wasn’t even trying to hide his satisfaction: “Come on,” he threw a couple of sheets on the nearer bed “You make the beds.”

“You are a cruel and despicable person, Professor Lupin.”

Remus’ rough laugh sounded like magic.

 

When Sirius finally stepped foot on the last landing, he found Remus moving his things in Regulus’ room. He had felt it coming since he had entered the drawing room downstairs – the door was half open – and a comfortable looking bed had met his gaze, towering at the centre of the room in place of two old and tattered armchairs.

They stalled for a few seconds and Sirius thought _Here it is. The chips are down_. Remus moved awkwardly at is left and at the same time Sirius shifted his weight on his right leg. They both let out a nervous laugh.

Remus lifted his suitcase in the general direction of Regulus’ half-closed door: “I’ll just…”

“I don’t want you to.” The words slipped from his lips before he could stop them. He flinched when he realised he sounded petulant and childish.

Remus blinked, mouth ajar, then licked his lips: “Sirius,”

“Why do we have to be a dirty little secret?”

Sirius vaguely remembered asking Remus the same thing, forehead pressed against his shoulder as he drunkenly jacked him off in a dark alley in Muggle London after a Siouxsie and the Banshees concert in 1978. Remus hadn’t answered that time.

“It is easier this way.” Present Remus said, his posture more rigid and the hold on his suitcase firmer. Sirius wondered if he was remembering too. “The situation is complicated enough.”

“It wasn’t last night. Or the night before.”

Sirius knew Remus was thinking quickly, he could see it from the slight twitch in his jawline, the way in which he licked his lips.

“Sirius, please, don’t make it difficult.”

“Make what difficult? I don’t…” he could feel the blood rushing in his veins, and he didn’t want anything more than change into Padfoot and just pounce on the wolf, tumbling him, solving this quarrel like animals because it was so much simpler. They had done it before, in the long year he which they almost didn’t talk, just meeting during full moons, running in remote settings, losing themselves in their animal forms, without borders, without restraints. But the full moon was still weeks away. “Why are you still so ashamed of this?” he opened his arms.

Remus seemed on the verge of losing his temper. Nobody else would have noticed, his shoulders were stiff and his expression unreadable and, apparently, he looked calm and collected. But Sirius knew him, he thought with manic satisfaction, after all these years he still knew him. He knew that when Remus shifted his weight from one leg to the other and set his jaw and wiggled his little finger like that… He was the only one who could notice it. Well, James would have noticed and probably Peter too, but Sirius didn’t want to think about them, not now. This was just between him and Remus. As it had always been. _Yes_. Thought Sirius. _A reaction, anything_.

“I don’t want to have to explain why I sleep in your bed to Molly Weasley and her children.” Remus said through narrowed teeth.

“I don’t give a damn what Molly Weasley thinks!” Sirius laughed without joy.

“Then maybe you will care about what Harry thinks.”

Sirius tensed up: “Harry is not here. Dumbledore explained why he can’t come.” He repeated the words he had been saying in his head since he’d asked Dumbledore about it. He felt a bitter taste on his tongue.

Remus’ shoulders slumped a bit and all of a sudden Sirius literally _saw_ on him all the years they had lost: “Sirius, listen to me. I do not want to fight. I am not ashamed. I have never…” he didn’t finish the sentence. He lowered his gaze and ran a hand through his thin hair, they fell on his forehead in silvery locks. _All the years they lost._

“Yes, you are.” The awareness hit Sirius as if someone slapped him in the face. “This is it, isn’t it? You are ashamed because for twelve years you…” he closed his mouth, uncapable of finishing the sentence.

Remus leaned against the wall with his left shoulder and his suitcase slipped from his fingers, falling on the old moquette with a soft sound: “Say it, please don’t spare my feelings.” He challenged him, defiant.

“Because you kept wanting this.”

_You kept wanting me._

Remus had that look in his eyes he bore when the moon was looming over him, a ghostly pale almost perfect disk over his head, the last days before she reached her full: “You have no idea.” He said, sounded defeated “You have no idea how that is, Sirius. I believed it. I believed you had betrayed James and murdered Peter and all those people. You liked that hex, do you remember? The one Peter used to blow up the whole street. You used it once to make all the toilets in the castle explode.” Neither of them was smiling at the memory “I found out from the paper.” His voice broke, “And then Dumbledore called me in his office, and he confirmed everything, and I believed him.”

“Remus,” Sirius tried to stop him, to tell him he understood, to tell him he didn’t have to feel guilty, to tell him he had been sincerely persuaded of the fact that he was the spy. He wanted to tell him they were even.

“I never doubted for a moment, Sirius, because you know what was the first thought I had? It was: he betrayed me once, I should have known he was going to betray James too.”

Sirius physically took a step back and leaned on the extremity of the banister: it was shaped like the head of a snake. If Remus had hit him with a curse it would have hurt less. He was struggling to breathe. His grasp on the bannister tightened and felt the fangs of the snake puncturing his palm.

But Remus went on, unleashing twelve years of silence on him. From the outside he looked unperturbed.

“He was willing to make a murderer out of me at sixteen. I should have known what he was capable of.” He paused again, his voice strangled “That’s what I told Dumbledore. And then I went back to London and Aurors were raiding our apartment.” His tone changed, as if he was recounting someone else’s story “They brought me in for questioning. Moody wasn’t there, or I believe he would have stopped them, since he knew everything about my job with the Order. And while they peeled me of everything we had ever shared, I kept asking myself: is he in this building? Are they doing this to him too? Then Dumbledore came and vouched for me. I was sent back in Camden and it was a battlefield. They had taken away almost everything, and the rest was shattered or torn or scattered around. A good metaphor.” Remus wasn’t looking at him anymore “I stayed there for days, unable to do anything, until the next moon. And still I wanted you.” He raised his eyes again “You had taken everything from me, and I still wanted you, Sirius, as badly as ever.”

For thirteen years Sirius had thought that he had had the worst of it, not for the Azkaban part, he knew he deserved that, but because he couldn’t be out there tracking down Peter and make him pay, because he was the only one knowing the truth. He had also blamed Remus for a while, for blindly believing him guilty. But this… Sirius wanted to be angry with him, wanted to tell him that he had sworn he had forgiven him for Snape, that it wasn’t fair he was using it against him again.

“I hated you and myself and I was glad you were rotting in Azkaban and that I couldn’t avenge James and Lily because I knew that if I had ever met you again, Sirius… I would not have been able to do to you what we were ready to do to Peter.”

Sirius covered his face with a hand, massaging his eyes with his fingertips. He couldn’t hear this. He couldn’t… Avenging James and Lily was what he had lived for for twelve years. He couldn’t believe Remus…

_What about you? What if it was really Remus as you suspected?_

He felt a lump in his throat.

 _You did tell me your suspicions after ten months you had started thinking he was the spy._ continued James’ voice in his head.

Sirius wanted to protest, but it was the truth. He had waited and waited and waited all through Lily’s pregnancy, for long months in which he and Remus had been together-but-not-really. Remus had been almost exclusively with the wolves and Peter… Peter had kept feeding him information regarding Remus, telling him things Remus didn’t reveal about his missions. And Sirius had believed him and had started noticing things about Remus, things he had never noticed before: his disappearances were longer than needed; on his clothes Sirius could smell scents that shouldn’t have been there – men, women, freedom, desire; he wrote letters late at night, when he thought Sirius was sleeping. He had procrastinated and procrastinated and when the time for the Fidelius Charm had come he had made his choice and he hadn’t told Remus, nor Dumbledore and James had trusted him.

_What if he were the spy? Would you have killed him to avenge me?_

Sirius covered his face with both hands, he pressed his fingers against his eyelids until white lights started popping in front of him and Peter’s face in the Shack appeared before him, pleading and begging. Remus wouldn’t have begged, he wouldn’t have been on his knees. He imagined pointing his wand at his heart. He imagined asking him why.

_Would you have murdered Moony for me, Padfoot?_

Sirius lowered his arms and made himself look at Remus. He was looking back with the corner of his lip slightly upturned in a tight, sad smile: “This is why I am ashamed.” He said slowly “Not because of us or the fact that we are both men or whatever idiotic crisis I was going through when we were eighteen.” He paused “Now you know. I will move my things in Regulus’ room. Give you some space.”

The door closed soundlessly behind his shoulders and Sirius laughed, a joyless, strangled, pained sound. Only ten minutes before he believed he knew Remus like the back of his hand.

 

Sirius didn’t go down for lunch. He closed himself in his mother’s room. Buckbeak could feel something was wrong and they spent most of the time looking at each other from two different sides of the room, suspiciously. A big part of him wanted to change into Padfoot and just forget for some time about the conversation. The question was burning in his brain: James’ voice had repeated it so many times it didn’t make any sense anymore.

He felt nauseous.

_Merlin, this is nonsense._

He didn’t want to think about the things Remus said, he didn’t want to… he wanted to _do_ something. Keep himself occupied. He got up from the dusty corner and walked to the door. When he opened it his stomach sank. All wrapped up in defensive charms – probably to keep away spiders and mice and Kreacher – was a butter and jam sandwich. Sirius felt his eyes stinging. He picked it up and took a bite. It wasn’t bad. Sirius took a deep breath.

“Moony?” he called, looking up and down the stairs.

“Bit busy!” came a snappish voice from downstairs.

Sirius walked down the stairs slowly, savouring his sandwich; when he got to the first floor, he rubbed his fingers, getting rid of the crumbs. Remus was inside the second room they had cleared that morning, a concerned expression on his face, while he examined something on the ceiling.

“What?” asked Sirius, getting in the room and looking up. His newly full stomach churned.

What looked like a mass of green slime covered completely the blackened plaster. It didn’t make any noise, except for the occasional squelching sound, when part of it kind of… moved?

“I’ve seen my fair share of revolting things in my life, but this will now keep a special place in my heart. Thank you, Moony.”

Remus’ lips twitched: “Don’t mention it.”

A drop of green slimy thing splattered on the left nightstand, near enough to the abat-jour to stain the suffering looking house elf engraved in its body, and Sirius leaned in to examine it: “What the hell is this?”

“It’s a colony of Bundimun.” Remus said plainly and Sirius noticed that an old edition of _Fantastic Beasts and where to find them_ lied on the bedsheets, opened at the correct page. Sirius smiled recognising Remus’ neat notes on little scraps of parchment tucked between the pages. It was his Hogwarts’ textbook.

“Fascinating.”

Remus shrugged: “It explains the stench.”

Sirius looked up again, hands on his hips: “How didn’t we notice it this morning?”

A noise like the suction of a drain answered Sirius’ question: one of the lovely creatures suddenly disappeared through the ceiling.

“I think they were upstairs.” Remus’ answer was calibrated, “and here when we were up. They feed on dirt and enjoy destroying decaying houses.”

Sirius lifted his eyebrows: “Their infinite qualities don’t cease to surprise me.”

This time, Sirius definitely recognised a smile.

“I really hope a simple Scouring Charm will suffice, or I will have to ask Arthur to do some research with his colleagues of the Pest Sub-division at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.” Remus grumbled.

Sirius shrugged, reading the paragraph on the Bundinum on Remus’ book: “It says their secretions rotten structures. I don’t really mind if the whole place collapses, honestly.” He turned the page “Did you know that they are only two Xs less dangerous than you?”

“Don’t make me hex you, Sirius.” Remus sing-songed, without looking at him, his wand pointed towards a pretty large fungus in one of the angles. He tried the movement a couple of times and Sirius noticed that he was putting a lot more effort in the precision of the S shape.

“Alright.” Remus cleared his throat and pronounced clearly “Scourgify!”

A voluminous cloud of bubbles enveloped the Bundinum, consuming it quickly like acid. In the end, only the eyes remained and fell on the ground, rolling around like marbles.

“Very well.” Remus turned towards him, a little greenish on the cheeks “You take that corner.” He pointed towards the left end and Sirius nodded. He knew the burning desire to focus on something in order to forget _something else_ for as long as possible.

They worked in silence for a while, only muttering incantations and jumping on the sides to avoid jets of acid secretions and wandering eyes. Sirius had no idea why someone could ever desire to work at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creature, Pest Sub-division. He would have bargained that ghastly occupation with fighting deadly Manticores any day of the week.

When only a revolting, dark green layer of slime remained on the ceiling, Sirius sighed: “I really hate housekeeping.” He declared “Scourgify.” He pronounced for the umpteenth time, but the slime didn’t seem to falter.

Remus licked his lips: “Let me try something out.” He said, frowning in concentration. He lifted both his hands and pointed his wand at the corner the biggest Bundimun had previously colonised: “Surgito.”

Sirius looked at him, impressed. It was usually a counterspell, but Remus was using it to gather all the remains of the filthy creatures. The slime lifted from the ceiling, as if attracted to Remus’ wand. He moved his arm in a straight line, and the slime followed it, until it concentrated in a sort of awful blob that vanished into thin air with a loud pop.

“That was really remarkable, Moony.” Sirius couldn’t hide the admiration in his tone and neither wanted to.

He smiled, lowering his eyes: “Only ordinary wizards use the spells as the book tells them to.” He said, a tone louder than a whisper.

_I’m moved, Moony quotes me like he quotes Merlin or that Muggle he likes. Shocked-pear._

_Shakespeare._

_Whatever. Next step: Chocolate Frogs._

A stiff silence fell over them. Sirius didn’t know what to say: he wasn’t sure he could address the conversation they had had earlier – or better, Remus’ monologue. He wasn’t even sure how he himself felt. The desire of killing Peter had always been pristine in his head – the only thing that had kept him sane in twelve years. It probably wasn’t healthy, and it probably said a lot about him, but he couldn’t rely on good memories: they were taken from him, one after the other, leaving behind only shadows, like the green slime on the ceiling. Vengeance, though. The Dementors didn’t feast on that. Vengeance had allowed him to keep it together. Remus admission… _I would not have been able to do to you what we were ready to do to Peter_. James’ words in his head… _Would you have murdered Moony for me, Padfoot?_

He was winding up again. He forced a tight smile: “Let’s go disinfest some more, shall we?” he asked, in a too cheerful voice.

Remus looked surprised that he was doing his best to avoid an argument. Sirius very rarely avoided confrontation. This time, though, he didn’t know how to play his part.

 

*

 

 _sometime_ 1981 or 1982 or 1983 or 1984 or 1985 or 1986 or 1987 or 1988 or 1989 or 1990 or 1991 or 1992 or 1993

Wormtail. Traitor. Rat. Kill.

A Killing Curse. Like Lily and James.

Or not? Something worse. He could take limb from limb from him, like they had done to… to… he didn’t remember his name anymore.

He didn’t want to hear explanations. He already knew _why_. He had always been weak, always been too fond of his own skin.

He was going to kill Wormtail and then he would go straight back to Azkaban, he didn’t care. There wasn’t anything else for him anyway. Just that burning desire to take his revenge. He owed it to… he owed it to… Lily and James. Lily and James. Lily and James. James. James.

_All my fault, all my fault, all my fault._

No, no, revenge must be his focus. Revenge was his lifeline.

Kill Peter.

That was his only goal.

Go back in Azkaban after. Whatever. There wasn’t anything else, anyone else.

A distant part of his mind objected to that: it sounded like echo, it felt like someone else’s memory. Woods, springtime, howling to the full moon. The corner of lips twitching. The fussing of a baby. Little hands.

The Dementors closed in and Sirius Black lifted his eyes, defiant: “Came in for a snack?”

 

*

 

Sirius couldn’t sleep.

Maybe he had become accustomed to Remus’ presence by his side, maybe it was the fight they had, maybe it was the pressing question in his head. He lied in the bed, chest lifting and lowering regularly. The faint light of a lamppost vaguely illuminated the red and gold shapes on the wall. He couldn’t distinguish the little figures on the photograph, but he knew they were there.

That picture, what it represented, had been his lifeline, back then, when he had been stuck in this house, this room, for weeks long as ages.

_Still could be._

_You are soppy, Potter._

He got up and opened the door to his left. The loo he once shared with Regulus was dark and grim. _What a surprise_. A vile layer of dust and filth covered everything. The nights before, he and Remus had used the downstairs bathroom. It was bigger and they had thought it was better to have a functioning bathroom that also had a tub. He opened the tap – it was shaped like a snake, like everything else in that house. The pipes made a pained sound, like a poltergeist screeching, and the water poured out black and full of slime.

“Sirius?”

_Fuck._

“Sorry, Moony, the tap. Go back to sleep, it’s fine.”

The door creaked and Remus peaked inside: “You okay?” he asked.

He had deep circles under his eyes, and it didn’t look like he was sleeping. When he pulled the door more, Sirius spotted a lit candle and an open book on his pillow.

“I’m fine. I have trouble sleeping. It’s… suffocating. This house.”

Remus nodded, understanding, then summoned a blanket with his wand: Sirius didn’t even notice he had it. It would be probably better if he kept it with him all the time too. James didn’t have his wand on him when he had found his body. No, he wouldn’t go there.

“Let’s go out.”

Sirius blinked: “What?”

“The rooftop.” Remus walked past him, crossing Sirius’ room and reaching the landing.

Sirius followed him and retrieved his wand from the nightstand. He hesitated, then grabbed the pack of fags too.

“But how we…?”

Remus grasped his elbow. *CRACK* They apparated on a fairly straight surface. It was accessible only through the attic, and Sirius had never been there much – it was full of mementos and creepy dark objects. Kreacher’s favourite place.

Sirius inhaled profoundly: London was mostly quiet, he could hear the faint noise of the cars, a couple of streets from there, the coarse laugh of someone being thrown out of a pub. He looked up: the sky was dark, only a couple starts visible, because of the lights of the city. The moon was at her first quarter.

Remus was leaning against the wall, one leg propped up. He was looking at the sky. Sirius wondered if he’d ever looked at it and not hated it. He wondered how he spent all the full moons in which the dog, the stag and the rat weren’t there. _All the years they lost_.

He sat on the dirty concrete, circling his knees with one arm.

“Tell me how it was.”

Remus looked down at him with a questioning look.

“Teaching Harry.” He specified.

Remus visibly relaxed. He had already told him bits and pieces, the first days he had stayed at his cottage in Wales. It was a safe subject. He conjured the blanket he had brought with him and folded it in half and then again in half. He sat at one extremity and didn’t say anything when Sirius shifted to settle closer to him, on the soft fabric. Sirius lit a fag with the tip of his wand and passed it to Remus. He breathed in a puff of smoke and give it back to Sirius. They didn’t touch, nor they looked at each other. They kept their eyes on the summer sky, the cigarette passing between their fingers, and Remus recounting with fondness in his voice.

The Moon and Canis Maior were oddly close that night.


	2. Part two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part two of the angsty fest!

July 9th 1995

The Weasleys and Hermione arrived the day after, while Sirius and Remus were eating breakfast, half asleep; suddenly the house became very loud and very busy and Sirius didn’t have time to think for more than three seconds. Even James had gone quiet.

On July 9th Dumbledore scheduled the first meeting of the newly re-formed Order of the Phoenix. Sirius was bursting of suppressed energy, he couldn’t wait to get to work, he couldn’t wait to do something. Remus, on the other hand, grew quieter and quieter as the time came closer.

The assembly was scheduled for dinnertime. Molly had been preparing food for an army since the day she’d stepped foot in the house. Sirius found her a bit too bossy. It was _his_ house, after all. Nevertheless, he remembered her brothers fondly, so most of the time he bit his tongue, instead of losing his temper. If Remus noticed, he didn’t comment.

“Oi, you are here.” Sirius entered the kitchen rubbing a towel on his long hair. It was early in the morning – barely dawn – and when he had swiftly closed Regulus’ bedroom door behind his shoulders Remus was still sleeping.

Remus yawned, the Daily Prophet in front of him: “Pipes right behind my head in the wall.” He said, scratching his chin. A short, greyish stubble had started to grow, and Remus hadn’t shaved it off yet. It made him look even more shabby.

“Sorry.” Sirius said sheepishly, moving a chair and sitting on it backwards. It was the first night he had slept in Regulus’ room with Remus. It hadn’t been exactly planned. He waved his wand absent-mindedly and the shutters of the cupboard slammed open. Bread and jam darted so quickly towards Remus – like rockets or something – that he had to cast a Shielding Charm. Luckily, it wasn’t that powerful, and the food just bounced back on the table.

“Didn’t know you still had that much pent-up energy.” Remus commented, stopping the jam jar from rolling off the table.

Sirius felt himself blush.

_This is new._

_Shut up, James._

Remus was smiling – was that _mischief_? His eyes darted quickly towards Sirius, then back on the paper.

_I don’t know where we stand._

Sirius cleared his throat and moved to the old stove, putting on the kettle. He could have done it with magic, but he didn’t trust himself. He poured the water and lit the burner like Muggles did, then, he retrieved tea from another cupboard and pushed the Darjeeling towards Remus. He smiled again, maybe a bit apologetically. Sirius started listing the items for breakfast in his head: tea, jam, bread, butter, milk, coffee. He put everything on the table, moving automatically around the kitchen.

“Eggs?” he asked, looking at Remus, the carton in his right hand.

He nodded politely: “Lovely. You will make Molly jealous.”

Sirius shrugged: “She can make more. I swear, those boys eat as much as a battalion.”

“Remember how much we ate at their age?” Remus had turned towards him, an arm casually draped on the back of the chair.

“You always took three portions of everything after a Full.” Sirius found himself smiling fondly at the memory. It was like the pieces of a puzzle were sticking one to the other, sometimes. “The house elves loved you best.”

“They loved Pete best.” Remus said, without thinking.

Suddenly, an ice-cold silence fell on the room.

_Fuck._

Sirius finished cooking the eggs and then carried the pan to the wooden table, carefully placing it between them. Molly would surely tell him off for leaving burns on the wood, later. Remus summoned cutlery and tableware and they started eating in silence. At some point, when Sirius’ eggs were almost gone, Remus slipped the Prophet towards him and summoned a quill with a quick movement of his hand. Sirius lifted a corner of his mouth. Crosswords. He started working on them and Remus took a bite of his third slice of bread, butter and jam. Slowly, the silence lost its coldness.

Molly entered the kitchen while they were washing the dishes, manually, because Sirius wanted to do something to keep his mind off things and Remus had just taken his place beside him, without saying a word, drying them one after the other. Fred and George, the twins, were following her whining about being woken up so early in the morning.

“You have homework.” Molly was saying “Good morning, Remus, dear.” she looked at Sirius a bit stiffly “Sirius.” She said, more quickly.

Yes, she definitely didn’t like him much. Sirius flashed her his best smile in retaliation and Remus stepped on his toe. Oh, so he _did_ notice.

“Good morning Molly, good morning boys.”

“It’s N.E.W.T.s’ year and I haven’t seen you with a book in your hands for more than five minutes all summer!”

Fred – or George? – looked incredulous: “We have been on holiday for six days, mum!”

She looked at them sideways: “So? Only fifty-five days and you are back at Hogwarts.”

Sirius passed the last dish to Remus and whispered in his ear: “Doesn’t she remind me of someone?”

Remus stepped on his toe more vehemently: “Shut up, Padfoot.”

The twins turned towards them at the same time, their mouths gaping.

“What did you say?” asked one of them. Sirius wasn’t able to tell them apart.

Remus looked as confused as Sirius felt: “He was just…”

“No!” they both came closer, blocking them against the kitchen sink “What did you call him?”

“Oh,” a wide smile opened on Remus’ face “I didn’t think. Fred, George, can I introduce you to Messr. Padfoot, aka Sirius Black?”

The twins looked starstruck.

Suddenly, Sirius remembered something that Remus had told him some time before and that he had forgotten in the last frenetic days: the Weasley twins had figured the Map out. He wiped his hands on a tea towel: “And can I have the pleasure to present you the one and only Messr. Moony?”

Molly was looking from one to the other, without understanding what was happening.

“Merlin’s most baggy Y fronts!” shouted–

“Fred! Language!”

The twins ignored their mother. They looked at each other, then at Remus and Sirius, who were still stuck against the sink.

“You– ”

“And him– ”

“The Marauders– ”

“ _Professor_ Lupin!”

They seemed unable to produce a complete sentence.

Remus was grinning and Sirius reckoned he himself was gloating. It was like going back years and gain back some of that admiration and awe that had followed them everywhere at Hogwarts.

“We owe you so much.” Fred was almost whining “You have no idea. Our fame at Hogwarts has been built on your solid foundations.”

Sirius exchanged a look with Remus, amused.

“We found the Map during out first year. How did you do it?” George was whispering, trying not hide the conversation from his mother.

“It was Moony’s idea.” Sirius said, without a trace of doubt.

Remus rubbed a hand on his nape: “That’s not… it was everyone’s really.”

“Well, you have been the first one who expressed it.” Sirius insisted. He didn’t know why he wanted it to be clear. He didn’t know what he felt for Remus in that precise moment – _mostly confusion and turmoil and love and hate and longing and nostalgia and anger and grief and_ _shut the fuck up Prongs_ – but a part of him only wanted to get things straight.

“Professor Lupin!” George said again, astonished and reverent at the same time.

Sirius leaned against the sink and crossed his arms: “We spent years on it. Remus was into cartography since before school. We were first years too when he proposed it for the first time. It was innocent enough in the beginning.” He smirked “Remus kept getting lost and wanted a map.”

“Oh, because you were so much better with those stairs, weren’t you, Sirius?”

They were both smiling. Sirius nudged him.

“And who are the others? Wormtail and Prongs! Can we meet them?” Fred was jumping up and down in excitement.

Sirius tried not to show the flash of anger and pain that had just run across him, but he clearly couldn’t help his expression, because suddenly Fred and George stopped bouncing off the walls.

Remus came to his aid, in his best teacher-voice: “I am afraid not, lads. Wormtail is Peter Pettigrew and Prongs is Harry’s dad, James.”

The twins looked at each other, then looked back at them, clearly torn between asking them more about the Map and stop talking, wanting to be sensitive. Sirius didn’t feel like bragging about it anymore, he wanted to climb the stairs and hide in Buckbeak’s room and just brood – even the Map was tainted – but Remus was just too much of a mentor-figure or something to let it go.

“We can show you the spell.” He said, kindly.

Sirius wanted to snap back that there were a hundred spells on that damned piece of parchment, but Remus glared at him with such intensity that he just bit his tongue and squeezed his own middle more firmly.

Fred and George looked hopeful and, again, extremely reverential.

Sirius sighed and raised his voice: “Molly, we’re helping the boys with Transfiguration, would that be alright?”

It wasn’t a complete lie.

She lifted his gaze from a piece of bacon that she was slicing with precision: “Oh, sure. Thank you, Sirius. Just take some breakfast with you.”

Remus nodded in confirmation with that reliable face he had, and Molly beamed. How he managed to be that good was a mystery. Sirius had been asking himself the same question since they were eleven. They had escaped countless detentions thanks to that face. His stomach churned.

_And you used to make fun of me for Lily._

They climbed the stairs to the twins’ room – Sirius remembered Narcissa sleeping there once, a long time ago – and before they even entered, Remus was explaining how they found out about the Homunculus Charm and how they had applied it to the Map. Sirius looked at them from the threshold for several seconds, before closing the door: _Merlin, he is good._

“Always said!” exclaimed Fred, looking feverishly for quill and parchment to take notes “Best Professor we ever had.”

It was a lovely morning.

 

 

Dumbledore arrived right before dinnertime when most of the others were already there.

Sirius knew the majority of them, since they had come and gone from the house frequently in the last week, but was surprised anyway to see that the numbers were radically reduced compared to the original Order.

_What did you expect? We are all dead._

Kingsley Shacklebolt was by far Sirius’ favourite new member. He was a quiet and steady presence, sort of like Remus, with a twinkle in his eyes that screamed trouble. Moreover, he was the one who was saying everyone that he was in, like, Jamaica or something. Second place came probably Andromeda’s daughter. Andromeda had always been Sirius’ favourite cousin – an outcast and mischief-maker, like him – and her daughter had the same talent for trouble. She had arrived a bit earlier in the afternoon, and right after Sirius had found himself deep into conversation about Metamorphomagi and Transfiguration. Nimphadora – that was her godawful name – was bright and funny and Sirius tried not to think how long that would last, if this war was going to be anything like the first one.

One of the most wonderful surprises, though, was seeing again Minerva McGonagall. She had been his most beloved teacher. His heart actually missed a beat when she entered the grim hall, a bottle green robe and matched cap.

_You always had a crush on McGonagall._

_I always wanted to_ be _McGonagall._

“Professor McGonagall.” A broad smile widened on his lips.

She lifted her eyes and Sirius felt sixteen-year-old again, in trouble for something and facing his Head of House in her severe, well decorated office.

“I always knew you would accept my offer to move in together, in the end.”

Her lower lip trembled, and Sirius’ expression softened. She looked older than he remembered, her once black hair was almost all grey and her aristocratic features were marked by deep wrinkles. If he hadn’t known her better, he would have sworn she was on the verge of tears. He thought about his first year at Hogwarts and the strict but motherly way in which she had treated him, when everyone else was looking at him with suspicion for his surname. He remembered the times she had hidden her smile behind a handkerchief in front of a particularly amusing prank. He remembered her not so well-hidden pride when he had passed his O.W.L. in Transfiguration top of the class, despite the year he’d had. He also remembered her disappointment and the troubled look in her eyes in Dumbledore’s office after that night with James, Remus and Snape. He remembered feeling uncomfortable at the thought he could have deceived her. He offered his hand.

“Mr Black,” She had the same sharp voice, “you always manage to outdo yourself.” She lifted her hand as well, but before she could shake Sirius’, he swiftly curled his fingers around hers and brushed his lips against her knuckles.

“Is that a compliment, my dear Professor?” he winked.

McGonagall rolled her eyes: “Take it as you want.” Her tone was non-committal, but she was clearly fighting back the urge to smile.

Much to his surprise, she didn’t walk past him immediately to get to the others in the stuffy kitchen. She put both of her hands on his shoulders and draw him in a hug. It was brief, but not awkward. Sirius hugged her back automatically and even if he had towered over her for years, he still felt like an eleven-year-old child.

“I want to apologise, Sirius.” She said sternly, drawing back to look him in the eye.

Sirius frowned: “For what?”

“For believing you could betray James.” She answered without hesitation.

Sirius felt a pang of pain run through him. He opened and closed his mouth, failing to find the words. Nobody, not even Dumbledore – especially Dumbledore – had ever apologised before.

Minerva McGonagall gave him a shaky smile, then patted his shoulder and walked past him, as if she already knew the way to the kitchen. When she disappeared past the threshold, Sirius leaned against the stairwell: he lingered alone in the entrance hall for a few more minutes, collecting himself, then swallowed down the lump in his throat and followed her inside.

 

When everyone arrived, they all sat around the big wooden table. Molly had cooked for at least three times the people that were there, and the food had been arranged on every surface except the table, so that they could nibble at it while working.

Dumbledore spoke first: “Welcome to the first meeting of the newly re-founded Order of the Phoenix.”

Sirius saw Nimphadora elbowing Kinglsey with a wide smile, her hair bright pink. He exchanged a look with Remus and recognised a half nostalgic, half disenchanted expression in his eyes. He hoped he didn’t look the same. He didn’t want to feel the same.

_You’ll be more prepared._

_Moony said that too and look at his eyes now._

_It’s just memories, Pads. You should know about memories._

“I thank you all for being here in such dark times and for such a difficult aim to achieve, albeit noble.”

Sirius didn’t remember how Dumbledore’s speech had sounded when the Marauders had joined the Order the first time. It probably hadn’t been like that, because it wasn’t the first meeting: they had joined right in the middle of it all, young and foolish and just out of school.

“I want to officially welcome our new members: Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minerva McGonagall, Arthur Weasley, Molly Weasley, Bill Weasley, Charlie Weasley and Hestia Jones. And to welcome back the old guard: Alastor Moody, Dedalus Diggle, Elphias Doge, Mundungus Fletcher, Remus Lupin, Rubeus Hagrid, Severus Snape,”

Sirius felt a rush of hatred at the name, Snape was standing near the door, a disgusted expression on his face. Luckily, he had arrived right before dinner, not longer before Dumbledore, and Remus had made sure they didn’t end up on the same side of the room not even for a second.

“Sturgis Podmore and Sirius Black.”

Sirius felt all the eyes on him. He lifted his glass of Firewhisky in a toast, defiant.

Dumbledore had that infuriating benign smile on his lips: “I also want to thank Sirius for offering this house as headquarters.”

Sirius’ jaw stiffened, but he managed to nod.

“Now, to more pressing matters.” He intertwined his fingers and his expression darkened slightly “Harry Potter is under protection. Arabella Figg is constantly controlling on him and the rounds are going well, I believe.”

“Peachy.” Hestia smiled cheerfully “He looks like a caged lion, though.” She added, thinking about it.

Sirius poured himself more Firewhisky: “We should bring him here.” He said, without looking at anyone in particular.

Dumbledore leaned his chin on his intertwined fingers: “It is my desire that Harry stays with his uncle and aunt. Privet Drive is protected by ancient magic. Much more powerful than anything we can come up with. You understand, Sirius.”

He drained his second glass: “I understand.” He confirmed, without looking at Dumbledore.

_A caged lion. That’s a common sensation, kid._

“Who is scheduled next to check on him?” Remus asked, calmly. Sirius suddenly regretted not being nearer. He looked at him through the room, but his eyes were stubbornly fixed on Dumbledore.

Sturgis lifted a hand: “That would be me. I still have ten minutes, though.”

Dumbledore smiled: “Very well. Now, there’s another matter to take into consideration.”

The meeting went on for two hours: as soon as Dumbledore gave an assignment to one of them, the wizard or the witch disapparated with a loud *CRACK* following orders like a good soldier. Sirius was itching to know what was going to be of him. He was still wanted, of course, but Kingsley was doing a great job in covering his tracks, apparently, so an assignment was surely in order.

_Any assignment._ He thought desperately. _I will do anything to step foot out of his house_.

In the end, only Sirius, Mad-Eye, Remus and Dumbledore remained in the kitchen. It was like a weird déjà-vu. Molly had stormed outside a few minutes before, because she had found out that the twins were trying to eavesdrop with a strange device that looked like a long string with an ear attached to one extremity. Sirius had thought it was extremely ingenious, but he hadn’t said a word, so not to cross Molly. He was pretty sure that Remus was thinking the same, though, because he had an impressed look in his eyes. Personally, he didn’t see why the kids couldn’t participate in the meeting. He had been seventeen too when he had joined the Order the first time.

_Yes, and look where that brought us: under six feet of dirt and in prison._

“Lupin,” started Moody, with his voice similar to the growling of a big animal “you know what we have to ask you.”

Sirius’ stomach sank.

Remus’ expression was unreadable: “I know.” He confirmed “But I doubt the pack will welcome me back. They know that I was a double agent. Greyback knows, at least, and even those who weren’t there last time…”

“It’s not exactly that.” Dumbledore interrupted, he was rubbing his index finger on the edge of his glass “We would like for you to join different packs, this time. Not Greyback’s.”

Remus frowned: “Other…?”

“There’s going to be some persuading to do, Lupin.” Moody tapped his fingers against the head of his knobby staff, “We want you to bring the wolves to our side. As many as you can.”

Remus looked surprised: “Oh.” He only said.

Dumbledore was looking at him with that twinkle in his eyes that made Sirius feel uncomfortable and prone to violent actions: “We believe we had approached the matter in the wrong way, last time.” He said, carefully “Voldemort will try to bring all the dark creatures to his side, like he did before. Nevertheless, I know at least of one werewolf who is _not_ a dark creature.” He paused and Sirius knew that Remus was nervous “That was my mistake last time, believing that all werewolves would join Voldemort just because they are supposed to be attracted to darkness. But they aren’t. I am sure there are werewolves who recognise that joining Voldemort would not do any good, that we can offer them something better.”

A pang of irritation coloured Remus’ eyes. Sirius knew that he was thinking that it was all bullshit. And it was. The prejudice against werewolves was so deeply rooted that Remus had to leave his job at Hogwarts because of that. Not even Dumbledore had managed to prevent that from happening. Sirius knew Remus didn’t blame Dumbledore for that, he never blamed Dumbledore for anything. Remus still had that hero-worshipping thing for Dumbledore, just because he had allowed him to come to Hogwarts in the first place.

“What can we offer?” Remus asked carefully, without managing to hide his doubtful expression.

Dumbledore took a sip of his drink: “A better world. Better laws. A new deal.”

“Bollocks.” Sirius snarled through gritted teeth. “All bullshit. This is fucking mental. Remus is not going anywhere.”

Remus’ grip on his glass tightened: “Sirius,”

“No.” he went on “We have nothing to offer the werewolves, they won’t listen, they will tear him to pieces.”

Dumbledore looked at him like he was expecting this reaction: “I am afraid we must try. We have even less allies this time, Sirius. The Ministry refuses to acknowledge Voldemort’s return and we have to act fast, prevent them from choosing his side.”

Sirius couldn’t believe his ears: “There is nothing to prevent, Dumbledore! Do you really think that Grayback hasn’t already run back to his master? Do you really think every other werewolf won’t follow him? Voldemort gives them what they crave the most: a free pass to attack people.”

“Sirius!” Remus shouted.

Sirius turned towards him, breathing fast.

“A word.” Remus added sharply, motioning towards the door.

They walked outside and Remus led him inside the drawing room in front of Walburga Black’s portrait. They entered and Remus closed the door behind him. Sirius had already started pacing the room.

“I can’t believe you could even consider it!” he threw his arms in the air.

Remus lifted his wand and for a second Sirius feared that he would curse him.

“Muffliato.” He said instead.

He didn’t want them to listen. Whatever.

“He’s using you. Again. It’s just bloody mental! You can’t really think…”

“A free pass to attack people.” Remus articulated and Sirius shut his mouth, then opened it, then closed it again.

_Fuck._

“It’s not… Remus…”

“This is what _we_ werewolves crave most.” He pronounced the words with such spite that Sirius thought he would never be able to look at Remus again without remembering how hurt he looked in that moment.

“I didn’t mean _you_.” Sirius took a step towards him and Remus took one back. Sirius stopped, aching, “Moony…”

Remus lifted a hand and Sirius felt the words dying in his throat.

“First, you have no right,” Remus started, his voice trembling “you have no right to tell me what I can and cannot do for the Order. You don’t have it now and you didn’t have it back then.”

 

“I don’t like this.”

“Stop repeating it, Padfoot.”

“You don’t like it either, Prongs.”

“Of course, I don’t. But everyone must play their part and Moony is too valuable to the Order.”

“I wish he wasn’t.”

“Oh, Padfoot.”

 

“Stop nosing around! I _cannot_ tell you anything! Don’t you understand? It would jeopardise my efforts!”

“So, I’m supposed to just accept it? Not knowing where you are, what are you doing, who you are with?”

“Yes! And drop the jealous boyfriend act, Sirius, it doesn’t suit you. It’s not like we’re James and Lily.”

“No. No, we aren’t. We are fucking nothing.”

 

Sirius closed his eyes and leaned against the tea table, a hand to his forehead. His temples were pulsing.

“Second, would you stop behaving like a spoiled brat? Everyone must play their part. It’s a war, Sirius. I thought that much was clear to you at least. Dumbledore is in charge and that’s how things are and have to be. He is Dumbledore, for Merlin’s sake. He may not make the best choices sometimes, like every one of us, but he _is_ the greatest wizard alive.”

 

“Are you two sure we shouldn’t tell Dumbledore?”

“Less people know about this, the better, Lily.”

“But Dumbledore…”

“It’s going to be alright, Evans, I promise you. Everyone will believe it’s me and the Death Eaters will come after me.”

“That’s what I’m scared about, Sirius.”

“Aw, Lils, you are warming up to me.”

“Shut up.”

“I can take care of myself, can’t I, Prongs?”

 

“I don’t want you to go.” Sirius repeated. His head was hurting so much. Merlin, why all those memories…? “Remus, please, I don’t want you to go… the full moon, with other werewolves…”

It wasn’t the right thing to say. Remus’ expression hardened even more, if it was possible. Sirius felt nauseous.

“Are you afraid you’ll lose it and think I am the spy again?” Remus spit every word like venom.

Sirius didn’t know they could still hurt each other that much. He should have known. It was what they were best at, anyway.

As falling back in a bad habit, he couldn’t help it and snapped back: “Are you going to hold this against me for what it remains of our miserable lives?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Sirius, mine could be very short if you decide to blow me up on the suspicion of colluding with the enemy!”

He couldn’t distinguish what was pain and what was rage anymore. Everything felt mixed up, like a bad brewed potion on the verge of exploding. Sirius felt like fourteen years before, when he and Remus shared that shoebox apartment in Camden and kept fighting and fighting and fighting so much it was exhausting.

“You wanted to kill Peter as much as me!” He roared back.

They both wanted to, at the Shack, they both wanted to, Remus had even said it out loud. If it wasn’t for James…

_Harry_.

…if it wasn’t for Harry…

“Yes, Sirius, but _I_ could have never killed _you_!” Remus exploded and his voice cracked; then he added bitterly: “And I am sorry, I suppose, since it would have been such an easy choice for you.” He paused again, he was holding his wand and blue sparks were precipitating from its tip “I trusted you. Fuck me, I _loved_ you. And you fucked up everything because you wanted to be the hero, because you didn’t trust _me_.”

 

“Sirius, are you sure it’s Remus?”

“As sure as I can be.”

 

_It’s all my fault, all my fault, all my fault._

Sirius cradled his head in his hands. It _hurt_.

“And now you are doing it again.”

“I don’t… Remus…”

Remus stormed outside, slamming the door behind his back so hard that one of the portraits Dumbledore had covered the first night collapsed and shattered on the floor.

The full moon was in three days.

Remus didn’t come back.

 

*

 

July 16th 1995

There weren’t any assignments for Sirius.

Of course, there weren’t. He had defied Dumbledore once too often and the old man surely planned to keep him confined in that prison for presumably the rest of his life. He didn’t even like Shacklebolt that much anymore. He was pretty sure that since he was the chief of the task force busy on tracking him, he could basically decide how dangerous it was for him to stick his nose out of the door. And since he was on Dumbledore’s payroll…

_Merlin’s beard, Padfoot, you are becoming paranoid._

He wrote long letters to Harry, then burned them, because the mail could be intercepted. Sometimes he noticed that even if he started them with ‘Dear Harry’ they became letters that only James could have understood. Those times, he even ripped them up before burning them. Consequently, he wrote short letters to Harry and then hated himself for it because he could feel that he and his godson were in the same situation, both stuck in family houses they hated, without being able to do anything. Poor Harry, at least Sirius knew what was going on. Mostly.

He could feel his hands itching with desire to make something explode. Unfortunately, his magic had become much less volatile in the last few days, so he couldn’t pin it on that. His new wand was starting to submit to him and finally he was able to channel his magic properly in the new dogwood stick. It began responding to him almost as well as his old ebony one.

He mainly spent his days throwing away old family stuff with great pleasure. He also recovered some of his old clothes and adapted them to his grown up, scrawny body. He washed and folded Remus’ shirts and trousers, which he had kept using since he had stormed inside his cottage in Wales in June, and put them aside in Regulus’ room.

Every day he asked whomever came by to give some news if Remus had sent word. Nobody knew a thing. Remus hadn’t sent his Patronus, nobody knew where he was – except Dumbledore, perhaps, but Dumbledore never showed up anyway – and nobody knew why he didn’t come back straight after the full moon. The day before, out of desperation – it had been three days since the full – he’d even asked Snape.

“Worried for your boyfriend, Black?”

Molly Weasley had to stun him to prevent him from punching Snape in his ugly mutt.

He didn’t remember how it went the first time Remus had left to join the werewolves, to join Grayback’s pack. He didn’t remember if he had lost it then too, getting more and more worried every hour, stomach clenched, heartbeat uneven. He tried repeating in his head that this time wasn’t that dangerous, that he was just trying to persuade werewolves to join their side, that there was no double agent play involved. He didn’t sound very convincing.

_You almost lost a leg last time._ James said in his head, at some point. _We were supposed to stop some Death Eaters from attacking a Muggleborn family and you were distracted, worrying for Moony. Avery hit you with a well-placed Diffindo. You were lucky Lily was there to patch you up with dittany._

What did it feel like, the _last_ time Remus went on a mission, then? Sirius knew it was around the end of summer. He had stayed with werewolves so much that time that Sirius was convinced that he had abandoned them for good, that he had chosen the other side. Everything was a blur. When exactly was the last time he had seen Remus before Lily and James were murdered? He couldn’t remember. Where were they? Their apartment? Did they fight? Did they say horrible things to each other? Very possible. He couldn’t remember the last time they had a civil conversation, back then. Everything was tainted by suspicion. They were always wary, nervous, distrustful, on the verge of biting their respective heads off. Why couldn’t he remember? They weren’t good memories for sure. But maybe… despite all the pain and all the suffering and all the resentment and all the distrust, they were still memories about Remus. And Remus was…

 

It was almost midnight, the day after the half of July, when the front door slammed open and someone stumbled on the troll leg that worked as an umbrella stand and Walburga Black started howling full force.

“Mudbloods! Blood-traitors! Half-Breeds!”

“Tonks!” roared Molly from her made-up bedroom in the drawing room at the second floor.

But it wasn’t Tonks.

Sirius recognised the smell before anything else. Blood and forest and nature and pack and _wolf_. He threw himself down the stairs, jumping two steps at a time. He almost broke his neck twice.

“You smear the memory of my fathers!”

“Remus!” Sirius’ eyes widened in horror when he saw him. He was propped up against the wall, eyes closed, extremely pale. His chest lifted and lowered slowly. He was wearing a cloak thrown around his shoulders and nothing else, his cypress wand abandoned near his right thigh.

“Filth! Scum!”

Sirius turned for a second towards the portrait, rage blinding him: “Shut up!” he roared and felt as though a wave of magic had suddenly blasted from him. The curtains closed abruptly.

Without thinking, he rushed at Remus’ side, falling on his knees. It was bad. Oh, it was bad. A deep irregular slash cut his chest from shoulder to hip, his legs were covered in vertical scratches and his scarred skin was a patchwork of bruises. He was covered in blood.

“Moony, Moony, it’s me. It’s Padfoot, Moony.”

He grasped Remus’ wand – his was under his pillow. Why did he even keep it under his pillow if he didn’t remember to get it? James didn’t have his wand when he had been murdered. James didn’t have the chance to die fighting.

“Episkey!” the blood flow slowed a bit, but it wasn’t enough “Remus, wake up! What happened? Remus!” He knew he sounded manic.

The lights upstairs turned on one after the other and Molly peeked down the stairs. She gasped, shocked, and rushed to push the children back inside their rooms.

“Don’t you dare come out, or I swear you will regret it.” she ordered, haughty and terrifying.

Sirius pressed desperately a hand against Remus’ side, where most of the blood seemed to come from.

“Vulnera sanentur!” Remus’ wand didn’t respond well to his commands “Call Dumbledore!” he roared, without even looking at Molly. He knew she was near. She had to be.

Remus’ blood was hot and slimy, and Sirius felt it drench the sleeves of his pyjama.

“Vulnera sanentur! Come on!” he shook the wand, but his grip was loose because of the blood and the stick just wasn’t made for him. It rejected him. He would have problems using it even in normal circumstances, “VULNERA SANENTUR! Remus, Moony, wake up. Remus!”

_Not again, not again, not again. It can’t happen again, please Merlin, it can’t happen again._

 

James! James! No, no, no, no, no. Oh, dear God, please no. James! Prongs… Please, please.

 

When Dumbledore arrived, Sirius was covered in blood from head to toe. He probably looked like a madman. Madam Pomfrey was with him and looked aghast, but she immediately rushed at Remus’ side, opening what looked like a first-aid kit and reaching out for a small vial of green liquid. She poured it on Remus’ main wound and his flesh started fizzling. It could be dittany. It smelled like dittany. Sirius had no idea why he remembered so well the smell of dittany.

_Lily used it to save your leg._

Sirius’ hands were shaking so much that Remus’ wand slipped from his bloody fingers. Madam Pomfrey raised both her hands – she had a short wand, a light-coloured wood, willow, maybe? – and started chanting under her breath. Sirius didn’t know what to do. Dumbledore decided for him: he grasped his shoulder with his right hand and helped him up against his will. He didn’t want to leave Remus’ side.

“No… I have to…” he babbled, but he didn’t know what he had to do.

“You did very well, Sirius. Step back for a second, boy.”

He wanted to protest, to say that he wasn’t a boy and that Remus needed him and that he was _dying_ , and he couldn’t let him die, it couldn’t happen, _not again, not again, not again_. There was too much blood.

There wasn’t any blood at the Potters. James lied on the floor, at the bottom of the stairwell, his glasses crooked on his nose, his hazel eyes glossy and unfocused, fixed on nothing. He looked like a puppet with his strings cut. Sirius had fallen on his knees that time too. His hands were shaking that time too. Lily’s red hair had been the first thing he had seen when he had found the strength to climb the stairs: long and silky like flames. She lied on her side, her beautiful green eyes wide open in horror. James had written a poem on those eyes, once, at thirteen, maybe; it was terrible and ‘emerald’ rhymed with ‘disassembled’, which didn’t make any sense. There had been someone else in the room too. Hagrid was there, eyes full of tears and shock and minuscule baby Harry in his arms.

“Give him to me, Hagrid. Give him to me, I’m his godfather.” He had croaked. He wasn’t crying. Why wasn’t he crying?

But Hagrid had told him that the boy had to be brought as soon as possible to his uncle and aunt. Dumbledore’s orders. Sirius hadn’t protested: if they had followed Dumbledore’s orders since the beginning…

Nobody had taken him away, that night at Godric’s Hollow. He had to gather himself up alone. And he had made the wrong choice.

“Sit down.” Dumbledore moved his wand – he had a strange wand, long and weirdly shaped, bearing carvings that resembled clusters of elderberries running down its length – and a chair appeared at the bottom of the stairs. Sirius shook his head and leaned against the wall. He wanted to look at Remus, he didn’t want to stop looking at him even for a second, he wanted to see that chest lifting and lowering. He slid along the wall, beside Remus, and he grabbed his left wrist with his bloody hand. Thump, thump, thump. _He’s still here. He’s still alive_. Dumbledore didn’t comment, he joined Madam Pomfrey and started helping her with the healing spells.

_Of course he is good at that as well._

 

*

 

November 18th 1975

When Sirius shifted back, he was aching but in a good way. His muscles were protesting: too much effort, too much running, too much stretch, but his heart was pounding in his chest in a strong, constant rhythm. They had run all night, playing and chasing each other and rolling in the grass and hunting rabbits and birds and foxes. He let out a laugh extremely similar to a bark. It was thrilling, exhilarating. The stars looked paler and paler, up in the sky. The sky. Morning. Madam Pomfrey. _Fuck_.

“Moony?” he lifted himself on his elbows, looking around.

James was getting up, his fingers prodding carefully at his temples, as if he felt confused not to have antlers springing from them. His glasses were crooked on his nose. Peter was still a rat and was sniffing at the prone figure that laid near one of the trees at the limits of the Forbidden Forest.

“Remus?” Sirius got up on shaky legs and stumbled towards him. There weren’t any new wounds – of course they weren’t, they had been careful, they had been good – but he was still unconscious. “How is he, Wormtail?” Sirius mumbled, touching Remus’ shoulder tentatively. His skin was cold. Peter squeaked and turned back: “He seems fine.” He said with a small voice “Remus? Mate?”

Sirius reached for his hand, then his wrist. Thump, thump, thump. His heart was steady, slightly accelerated, but steady.

“It is normal.” James’ words came out weirdly slowed, like he was trying to pronounce every letter. “Changing back is painful. He said so, remember?”

Sirius frowned: “Maybe to you.” He mumbled.

“We have to wake him up.” Peter sounded alarmed “It’s dawn, we have to take him back into the Shack and then run away before Madam Pomfrey arrives.”

James nodded solemnly, then kneeled next to Sirius and turned Remus on his back: “Moony, wake up.” He articulated, like he was trying out a spell for the first time.

Sirius shook his head, impatient, and pointed his wand towards Remus’ chest: “Rennervate.”

He was still holding his wrist with his other hand. He didn’t give it much thought.

Remus drew a sharp breath and opened his eyes wide, looking up, towards James and Sirius, who were looking at him unable to hide their twin, broad smiles: “Merlin’s beard it worked.” He babbled.

Sirius laughed and, again, it sounded like a bark. He didn’t dislike it. Side effects.

“It was brilliant, Moony.” He said.

Remus smiled back and Sirius felt his heartbeat accelerate under his fingertips. He let his wrist go.

“Yes, yes, you can brag about it later, Sirius.” Peter was looking towards the castle, worried.

James got up on his feet and offered a hand to Remus, as Sirius summoned a cloak out of thin air and draped it over Remus’ shoulders. Peter shifted in his rat form and ran towards the Womping Willow, ready to press the knot on its trunk.

Sirius flung his arm around Remus’ neck, dragging him towards him and messing up his already unruly hair. He smelled of forest and night and grass and something wild and fierce.

“We really made it.” James didn’t sound surprised, just proud and happy.

Sirius smirked cockily: “Of course we did, Prongs.”

Remus’ eyes darted from one to the other and Sirius thought for a second that his eyes looked damp. His smile widened. His own heart missed a beat.

Thump. Thu-thump. Thump.

They walked all together towards the Womping Willow, the dawn at their backs, Hogwarts looming above them.

 

*

 

They fussed over Remus for hours – or at least it felt like that for Sirius, sitting beside him, his fingers against his pulse point, unable to do anything more than stare at Remus’ wounds, trying to focus on what was real. Molly brought tea at some point, but it became cold and stained with blood. When they finally stepped back, Remus wasn’t bleeding anymore.

Sirius noticed that Madam Pomfrey’s hands were shaking, as she was wiping them on her apron. _Welcome to the club, sister_. He looked up at her and suddenly he felt twelve again, when he and James and Peter all fumbled inside the Hospital Wing asking about Remus’ health after a full moon.

“How… how his he?” he croaked.

“He has lost a lot of blood.” Dumbledore said with his usual calm. Sirius wanted to punch him.

_I can see that_. He wanted to spit out. _It’s drenching my fucking carpet_. _It’s all your fault. You sent him among monsters. Again_.

“He has to rest.” Madam Pomfrey intervened, possibly spotting a murderous glare in Sirius’ eyes. “I am sorry we have to properly meet again in such circumstances after all these years, Mr Black.”

Sirius lifted the corner of his lip: “It’s not like we ever met in different circumstances, my dear Madam.”

Her lips quivered and she recovered a stocky transparent bottle from her apparently tiny first-ait kit: the content was reddish and sinister: “It’s a Blood-Replenishing Potion.” She said, and her practical tone was very different from Dumbledore’s unnerving calm.

“I’ll make sure he takes it.” Sirius said automatically.

_That was my job. I was the mother hen._

_Well, come back from the dead whenever you fancy it, Prongs._

She nodded and Sirius grabbed the bottle with his sticky fingers. Everything was so goddamn bloody.

“Now, as regards moving him… I’d prefer not using any incantations.” She looked wearily at Dumbledore, who didn’t say anything, just stayed there with his placid expression.

“We can move him upstairs by hand, he is so skinny, poor man.”

Sirius hadn’t really noticed Molly was nearby. She was wearing a fluffy pink night-gown that clashed horribly with her red hair. She gave him a wavy smile.

“He will also need a bath as soon as possible. I don’t want to see any infections.” Madam Pomfrey assumed her Hospital Wing Lieutenant voice.

Molly nodded quickly: “Very well, we will bring him upstairs and…”

“I’ll do it.” Sirius said tiredly and sighed when everyone looked at him “We shared a room for seven years. And we lived in the same flat for three more. He would never be able to look at you in the eye again if you did it, Molly. He is like that.” He shrugged, without looking at anyone in particular. He could feel Dumbledore’s piercing blue eyes burning through his skin. _Whatever, do your Legilimency thing, old fool. I hope you enjoy naked shenanigans_.

Madam Pomfrey nodded and helped him slipping an arm behind Remus’ shoulders, curling his fingers under his armpit. Dumbledore imitated him on the other side. Despite his skinny body, Remus’ was a heavy dead weight and Sirius swore under his breath as they dragged him up the stairs. It was the most uncomfortable and awkward journey of his life.

The first-floor bathroom was unwelcoming like the rest of the house. It was one of the first places he and Remus had decontaminated though, so it was at least moderately clean. Sirius tried not to look offended when Dumbledore casted some additional cleaning spells. They leaned Remus against the toilet and Sirius shivered as he felt his breath against his temple. _He is alive, he is alive._

“I will leave you to it.” Dumbledore’s inflection was completely neutral. He waved his hand and the bathtub filled itself with steamy water; at the same time, two sets of clean plain pyjamas appeared out of thin air. Sirius was grateful that any of them bore an embroidery of stars or rainbows or moons or whatever the hell Dumbledore usually wore. The old Headmaster walked to the door and lowered the handle, then stopped. He looked behind his shoulders: “As soon as he wakes up, I want to speak with him.”

Sirius gaped. He opened his mouth to spit out the most venomous words in his vocabulary, but Dumbledore had already disappeared.

He deflated like a balloon.

_Priorities, Pads._

Right.

He laid the Blood-Replenishing potion on the glass shelf under the embellished silver mirror. He remembered trying out his parents’ pricey perfumes, when he was five or six. He used to take them from the glass shelf and spray them all around the bathroom until his nanny found him and spanked him with the carped beater. Fond Grimmauld Place memories. The transparent healing potion bottle still had the print of his bloody hand on the side. Sirius tried not to look at himself too much in the reflecting surface as he took his stained pyjama off. When even the last piece of clothing ended up piled in a dirty heap, he turned towards Remus, still propped against the toilet.

He untied the old, tattered cloak, which pooled over the toilet like a dark shroud. Without the fabric half-covering him, Remus looked even weaker and frail. Sirius entered the bathtub, then slipped his arms under Remus’ armpits and pulled. It took some pushing and prodding – and a considerable amount of wasted water – but in the end he managed to lower him inside. The bathtub was small and not made for two grown men, regardless how scrawny they were. Sirius didn’t care. He propped Remus’ against him, his thighs squashed between Remus’ bony sides and the copper interior of the tub. He curled his left arm around Remus’ shoulders, holding him, while he blindly grasped the soap from the windowsill, slightly above their heads. He started cleaning Remus’ skin, slowly, tenderly, massaging and rubbing, limbering and loosening up the knots in his shoulders. Soon the clear water assumed a muddy colour and Sirius opened the tap and the drain at the same time. As the cleaning progressed, Sirius tried not to wince in seeing how the new slashes clashed against Remus’ pale, greyish skin. They were red and inflamed and Sirius knew that silvery scars would take their place in time. He looked at his own arm and leg. Magical wounds always left a sign. He spent a considerable amount of time on cleaning the wound on Remus’ chest. It didn’t bleed anymore, but it did look inflamed and irritated. He shivered when he thought… _if it had been just a few millimetres deeper Remus would have died holding his interiors_. He had seen it. He remembered Gideon Prewett’s reddish-brown organs pooling on dirt wooden floorboards. His hands shook so badly he had to stop pouring clean water on Remus’ wounds.

_He’s fine. He’s alive._

It was James’ voice inside his head. No, it was his own. He remembered Lily’s tear streaked face when he had returned alone from a recce mission. James’ had been wounded and Moody had brought him to a safe house near Glasgow and Sirius had to go back to the Potter mansion alone, hours after their Portkey had came back without anyone attached to it.

_He’s alive. He’ll be fine._

“Si…”

Sirius felt Remus shift and his heart missed a beat. He instinctively tightened his grip around his shoulders. Remus’ head was lolling on one side and he felt his long, fair eyelashes caressing the skin of his forearm.

“Sirius…” Remus tried again, and his voice was hoarse. He curled his fingers around Sirius’ wrist, but he didn’t loosen his grip.

“I’m here.” He mumbled, taking a deep breath and nuzzling his hair. He wanted to kiss him. “You are fine, relax.”

Remus exhaled and abandoned himself against Sirius chest, his head propped against his shoulder. His eyelids fluttered, but he didn’t open his eyes, before slipping again into unconsciousness.

_He feels safe_. Sirius thought, surprised. _He trusts me_. For the first time in many years, he felt his eyes dampening. He forced his eyelids shut and fought back the tears. A second after, he poured more water over Remus’ head and started rubbing his body with a soft frilly sponge someone – probably Molly or one of the girls – had hanged to the tap. He went on until his fingertips wrinkled and the water got cold. It took all his willpower and his strength to carry Remus up the stairs and into Regulus’ room. He slipped in the bed beside him, then reached out to his wrist. Thump, thump, thump.

As he fell into Morpheus’ arms, he could only repeat in his head three simple but enormous concepts: _He is alive, he will be fine, he trusts me_.

 

*

 

When Sirius opened his eyes, all curled up on himself like a dog, he didn’t immediately realise where he was. He blinked twice: darkness surrounded him, he was somewhere warm and stuffy. He took in a deep breath and then caught the mouldy smell of the linens and groaned, kicking and pushing away the dusty covers.

“You are such a messy sleeper.”

The voice wanted to sound annoyed but was really full of fondness and cut him to the quick. He jumped up, eyes wide open. Remus was smiling faintly on the other side of Regulus’ bed, slightly propped up against the cushions, a book in his lap, his index finger fitted between the pages like a bookmark. He had purple circles under his eyes, and he looked ill, all greyish skin and hollowed cheeks. Nevertheless, a fading pink was colouring his cheekbones. Sirius could spot the far end of his red and jagged wound through the collar of his pyjama shirt.

“Moony, I....” He breathed out.

They looked at each other. Remus’ eyes were glassy, slightly feverish. He looked like he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure what. Sirius ran a hand through his hair. What is the etiquette to follow when your best mate slash lover is almost killed after a huge fight that has brought out fourteen years of resentment? He stayed still, knees sunk in the wobbly mattress, mouth ajar.

_You should really tell him you love him. You never did, you prick. But, thinking about it, he could think you are just saying it because he almost died, and not because you believe it for real. Well, at least a girl would think so. Not so sure about a boy. Or Moony in particular. He has always been the smart one, so maybe he can just read all of this in your face. Not that you two have ever been particularly good in the talking department, too. Or in the communication stuff. Lily and I on the other side… well, I talked, and she hexed me. You could always try that. Moony is not very talkative so you just have to let him hex you. Don’t pretend you wouldn’t. We both know you are in too deep, Padfoot. You are just completely, utterly, thoroughly…_

“I know, Sirius.” Remus said quietly.

_…fucked._

Sirius launched himself towards him, cradling his head with his hands, and pressed a hard kiss against his lips, eyes shut and all his strength and desperation and love and hate and regret and longing in that single gesture. He drank Remus’ sound of surprise from his lips and his heart leaped when Remus exhaled from his nose and grabbed his forearm with his free hand.

When they parted, Sirius pressed his forehead against Remus’. They stayed silent for several moments and Sirius simply enjoyed feeling Remus’ breath against his lips.

_He’s alive. He’s alive. He’s alive._

Sirius wanted to tell him _Don’t you ever do that again_., he wanted to ask him what had happened, what went wrong, where did he go? Was he attacked? Were all the werewolves on Voldemort’s side? Who was he with? What did he do to make them hurt him that bad? Did he provoke them? Why did he think it would have been a good idea? Where was the pack in that moment? Did he forgive him? Where did they stand? What were they? Did they hate each other? Did they trust each other? Would things ever be the same? Did he want them to be the same? And the same as when?

_Merlin, Sirius._

He opened his eyes and found that Remus was already looking at him. He breathed out.

“Thank you for coming home.”

 

*

 

July, 20th 1995

It was a couple of days before Remus and Sirius had the chance to really address what had happened.

The first twenty-four hours after Remus’ sudden return were filled with fussing and fretting and people coming and going from Regulus’ old room. It seemed like everyone wanted to know what happened. The children were told that Remus had had a particularly bad full moon, nothing to worry about, it happened from time to time, and Hermione offered to start studying how to brew Wolfsbane potion in time for the next. Remus had smiled his proud teacher smile, thanked her and told her not to worry about it, that he could manage. But she had muttered “Nonsense.” And had disappeared in the Black library. Sirius just hoped there weren’t many cursed books, but he quite trusted her to be sensible. She reminded him of Lily, on one side, and of Molly, on the other, even if she was cleverer than both. _Sorry, Evans._ She would be fine.

Dumbledore had arrived there at lunchtime, the same day in which Remus got up and Sirius had opened the door in his best, dark purple night-gown. Dumbledore had lifted his eyebrows but said nothing. Sirius hadn’t call him as soon as Remus had woken up, of course, but Dumbledore didn’t seem surprised about it. He had stayed in the room as Remus recounted what had happened, arms crossed and a hard expression on his face; Dumbledore hadn’t every tried to suggest that he left. At the end of Remus’ explanation, Dumbledore had asked him to go back to the same pack the following full moon and Remus had nodded. Sirius had pressed his lips in a thin line, so tight all the colour on them had disappeared.

_You look like McGonagall after the Cannibal Canaries Prank._

_Shut up, James._

 

As it turned out, they didn’t manage to have a moment alone until a week later, not even at night, since Sirius had chickened out and went back sleeping in his room. Molly and the kids were out on an early trip to Diagon Alley, because the twins were getting restless and their mother was scared that they could sneak out to some Muggle London concert. When she whispered so to Remus, Sirius was nearby and had to struggle very hard to keep a straight face, remembering summer 1978. Remus had been up to his feet for four days at that point and was tired to be treated like an invalid. Consequently, he followed Sirius in the cellar when he decided he was going to check for potential dangers there – he really wanted to get to the wine, honestly. Sirius didn’t try to stop him, but he stubbornly positioned in front of him at the top of the stairs leading to the cellar. Remus looked at him with a raised eyebrow, but Sirius just huffed a Lumos and got down first.

The cellar reeked even worse than the rest of the house, and that was saying something.

“Merlin, has something died in here?”

Sirius turned towards Remus who was covering his mouth with his left hand, his right grasping his wand. Sirius lifted a corner of his mouth: “Probably yes.”

He could have sworn that Remus was smiling his I’m-so-done-with-you-Padfoot smile behind his hand.

“So, what’s in this cellar?”

Sirius shrugged: “Mostly wine. I am quite sure some of it is still good. My lovely father was a connoisseur.” He moved forward, eyes darting in every direction. The tip of his wand was shredding a faint cone of light but nothing more. “Need some more light in here, Moony.”

Remus closed his left hand and when he opened it again a handful of flames were dancing on his palm. He blew on them, moving carelessly his wand and they flew all around, levitating mid air and positioning themselves all around the room. Sirius had always loved that incantation: Remus made it look so… well, _pretty_ was really the only adjective that came to his mind. It was also the first charm Remus had learnt performing wandless and non-verbally.

Sirius remembered that night. It was right after their O.W.L.s. They were supposed to be packing, but Sirius was playing Exploding Snap with Peter, James was whining about Evans, dangling upside down since Sirius had hexed him with a Levicorpus five minutes before and Remus was reading, half submerged behind a wall of books he was supposed to give back to the library. At some point several things had happened at the same time: Remus had yelped, Peter cards had exploded, James had fallen on his head and Sirius had tumbled off Peter’s bed. But Remus was holding a handful of flames in his left hand and was looking at them starstruck. Sirius had kicked away the covers and punched James in the face by mistake and had asked him how the hell did he do it. Remus had lifted his book, without letting go of the flames: _The Standard Book of Spells: Grade 6_ by Miranda Goshawk. Sixth year Charms. Swot. Sirius had hit him with a Levicorpus, in retaliation. Then they all had rushed around Remus’ bed, asking him to teach them, like the bunch of nerds they were. Their flames never looked as good as Remus’ anyway.

As the last of the flames positioned themselves, Sirius started look around more attentively. The cellar was not even a foot taller than him, coated in grey, lumpy stones, so to feign the aspect of a cave. It was also surely enchanted, so to maintain a constant temperature, to better preserve the wine. Sirius could feel the magic tingling on his skin. The space was divided in compartments by old, dusty, wooden bottle racks, each of them with a year painted in silvery varnish. Several expensive-looking bottles still lied in their places. At the centre of the room, a round, stone table was covered by a dark cloth, a couple of silver goblets laid on the floor.

“Revelio.” Remus murmured.

Nothing happened.

They stayed still a few more seconds, then Sirius shrugged: “Looks like my father cared to much about his wine to let a monster spoil it.” he commented light-heartedly, grabbing a random bottle and walking more smugly towards the centre of the room. He didn’t look at the label: he knew that if he did, he would have understood everything that was written there, he would have just known exactly how fruity the wine was and how hard it would have hit his head if he got drunk on it. He would have remembered Orion Black teaching him. He leaned over to pick up one of the goblets. “Let’s try some of this red whatever 1934.” He pointed his wand towards the goblet as he lifted up again “Ter– ”

“Sirius!”

Before he could understand what was happening, he felt something wrapping up around his neck like a sentient scarf. Instinctively, he brought his hands to the thing, trying to pull it away and in doing so he dropped his wand. He tugged: it was suffocating him. “What the…?!” he managed to slip his fingers between what felt like fabric and his neck, but the grasp was strong.

“Impedimenta!” Remus’ enchantment darted extremely near to Sirius’ hip, but ended up only shattering two of the table legs behind him.

“Fuck’s sake, Remus?!” Sirius slipped, bringing down the thing with him and also the table and _fuck_ , that was his thigh against which the damn jade stone had collapsed. The cape’s hold slackened a bit as Sirius struggled, rolling around and trying to free himself.

“Stay still! Stupeficium!” a jet of red light did hit the thing above Sirius’ left shoulder but it just bounced back and hit the closest bottle rack. A couple of Philipponnat Clos des Goisses bottled in 1964 exploded. _What a waste._ Sirius thought nonsensically, eyeing by chance a shard nearby, where the name of the winery was written in an elegant fashion; it was a crazy thought to have, since he was being smothered by an evil blanket. Before the cursed cloak or whatever it was wrapped up around his head like the hood of a Death Eater, Sirius caught a glimpse of Remus’ confused expression. _Well, if Professor Lupin doesn’t know what the heck this is, I am fucked._

“Why isn’t anything working?!” Sirius tried to yell, but the fabric was pressing against his mouth and it came out as “Wnmmhthhhgwk?!”

He tried pulling and jerking and tugging and towing, but the creature – it was most definitely a sentient creature – was too strong and his fingers were releasing their grip, slipping; he kicked and rolled around but he was starting to feel light headed, every movement was harder than the precedent. He needed oxygen, he couldn’t breathe, he needed air, air…

“EXPECTO PATRONUM!”

And suddenly a whole mouthful of air rushed back into his lungs and he felt as though breaking the surface of the water – he’d felt the same way when he had thrown himself out of one of Azkaban’s windows and then dived in the sea and plummeted and plummeted until he had found the strength to paddle to salvation. The black cape’s hold was loosening. He rolled over, propping himself up on his hand and knees, coughing and hacking, and when his eyes stopped watering, he recognised the huge shimmering wolf that was growling and pawing at the looming shape hovering mid-air. The wolf was grey and white, quite regal, after all. It wasn’t exactly the same, but Sirius knew that it would have looked exactly like that if there wasn’t a were- in front of wolf: _Moony_.

For a terrifying second, Sirius mistook the creature it was fighting for a Dementor: it had the same ominous appearance and a damn cool Patronus was keeping it at bay, but then he noted it didn’t have an exact… corporeity. It looked more like a shadow or, well, an enchanted, murderous cloak. He lifted himself up, leaning on one elbow and turned towards Remus, who was controlling the really spectacular Patronus: both of his hands were stretched forward in the effort to produce the strongest charm possible. The silver light was reflected in his light brown eyes, fixed in concentration, his forehead furrowed. The huge beast launched itself against the creature with brutal force, and they fought, turning and twisting until the dark one managed to slip the wolf’s grasp, twirling past Remus, through the open door and up the stairs: the wolf chased in pursuit, disappearing upstairs and leaving behind only a silvery, shining mist.

Remus lowered his wand, sighing.

“What was that?” Sirius croaked. His throat hurt.

“A Lethifold.” Remus walked towards him, picked up Sirius’ wand from where it had rolled over in a pool of the perfect Brut that had exploded when Remus had tried to stun the creature. He polished it quickly on his robe and handed it back to him. Sirius took it from his fingers: it smelled like good wine, he could live with it. But Remus wasn’t moving and kept his hand outstretched. Sirius grasped it without hesitation and let him lift him to his feet. Remus took a step back, probably noticing they were too close for his taste. “Sorry for the delay in recognising it.”

“Not at all.” Sirius nodded and looked up the stairs: “I hope your Patronus got it.”

A Lethifold was indeed a creature that loomed in the dark to suffocate sleeping preys. It was also quite uncommon to find it far from tropical climates. The infinite surprises that The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black reserved you.

Remus placed both his hands on his hips and licked his lips. His flames were still dancing around, throwing odd shadows on his scarred skin: “It was a powerful memory.” He admitted, mysteriously. Sirius wondered with narcissistic pleasure if it was about him, then cursed himself.

“Is that why it was corporeal?” he asked, nonchalantly.

He could feel Remus stiffen. He knew he was pushing: Remus didn’t like to talk about what made him a wolf – James knew something about it, but Sirius had never dived into it. He remembered being hexed into silence more than once when they were kids, especially the first years at Hogwarts. Remus’ eyes said that he considered unbearable that his Boggart was the full moon but his Patronus was the wolf itself. After Sirius, James and Peter had become Animagi, he had grown less self-hateful, more relaxed, more at ease with his friends, with his pack, even with himself, but the years of solitude… that self-hate, that constant feeling of being a monster must had caught up with him.

“Well,” he said, in the end, voice calm and calibrated as usual “Moony never had problems with Padfoot, didn’t he?”

They looked at each other and Sirius considered to what extent that could be seen as a lie.

“Never had anything against your furry little problem. On the contrary.” He shrugged, attempting a conciliatory smile. He wasn’t sure he was too good at those.

_‘Furry little problem’ was one of my best ones. Discreet. Essential._

_You were drunk._

“Furry little problem.” Remus repeated, as reflecting on it. He had a distant expression, he was reminiscing, gently playing with his cypress wand. _Cypress wands are associated with nobility. Wands of cypress find their soul mates among the brave, the bold and the self-sacrificing: those who are unafraid to confront the shadows in their own and others’ natures._ He could still remember Ollivander’s words when he had handed him a cypress and dragon heart-string wand, under the disapproving gaze of his mother. She could go with nobility only if connected with blood. The cypress wand hadn’t been the right choice in the end, Sirius was too unpredictable, but in that moment, the eleven-year-old child had sincerely hoped that someone like that, someone unafraid to confront the shadows in others’ natures, would cross his path one day. He didn’t have to wait for long.

Sirius took in a deep breath, then decided to play all his cards. It was the right moment. _All the years we lost._

“He wouldn’t blame you.” he said slowly, and Remus stopped his movement. The flames withered but didn’t disappear. “He wouldn’t.” Sirius said again, walking towards him and stopping a few feet away “He knew what was going on between us.” _He knew you loved me_. “He would understand. He would have… he would probably forgive even me. Peter. Whatever. He was like that.” His voice cracked. Harry’s words in the Shrieking Shack came back to his mind “And besides, he wouldn’t have wanted his best friend to become a murderer.” He gave Remus a shaky smile.

Remus’ hazel eyes were still distant when he spoke: “And you? Can you forgive me?” he asked dryly.

He had asked him once before, in the Shrieking Shack, but that time he hadn’t told him everything. _Can you forgive me for believing you were a murderer? Can you forgive me for believing you were a traitor, a spy? Can you forgive me for believing you could do that to James? Can you forgive me for not being able to actually kill you if it were true?_ Sirius stepped towards him and took his head in his hands, pressing his forehead against Remus’, like he had done days before, right after the full moon disaster, right after he had thought _Fuck it. I cannot lose another fourteen years_. They were almost the same height. He closed his eyes.

“I thought you were the traitor,” he confessed slowly, painfully “for ten months, before I told my suspicions to James.” _That is how much I loved you._ He could barely admit that to himself, saying it out loud was as ripping his heart from his chest. He felt Remus try to pull back to look him in the eye, but he held his grasp, pressing more firmly his forehead against his. “At first I simply didn’t believe it. You were one of us. I knew you. I had been knowing you for ten years. Nobody can change that much in such a little time, I thought. You were the most human human being I had ever known. The wolf was just your… well, you know.” He felt Remus twitch “Then, every mission for the Order started going awry. You weren’t there, you were often away, and I never told you exactly…” he took a breath “We were always outnumbered. It was hopeless, they were always a step ahead. I was so angry all the time.” Remus’ hands grasped his forearms and a shiver went down Sirius’ spine. He knew he remembered. They both remembered those nights they barely spoke. If one of them was home when the other came back from a mission, they always ended up entangled in sheets or bended over the kitchen table, the coach, the wall beside the fireplace. There wasn’t anything lovely about it. It was just pushing and pounding and getting off. They were punishing each other all the time. “Everything was slipping from my fingers: James and Lily went into hiding, I was alone, I kept thinking that I would do anything for things to go back to normal. I started killing in battle. If the Aurors could do it, I could do it. Dumbledore didn’t approve, of course. But it gave me satisfaction. I liked it, Remus. I was good at it. You could say it was in my blood.” Sirius knew Remus wanted to object, but he went on, relentless, “As Snivellus enjoys repeating over and over again: I was perfectly capable and willing to kill someone at sixteen.” He didn’t specify that Remus had told almost the same thing not even a fortnight before. “I remember thinking: if I give Death her human sacrifices, she will let them come back to me. You, James.” Those were lengthy memories. They didn’t shrink like the happy ones. “Marlene died first. Bellatrix attacked Frank and Alice. Then Benjy, Edgar, Caradoc, Dorcas. It never stopped. When I wasn’t throwing myself in foolish suicidal missions, I drank.” If he concentrated, he could still smell the stench of alcohol and vomit all around him. “Peter came by frequently when you weren’t there.” Sirius fought to stay still, to control his magic, so not to break something while thinking about that filthy traitor “He kept insinuating things. Once he told me he had seen you in London with a savage-looking young man, when you told me you were up North. Another time, he had spotted you turning the corner to Knocturn Alley, again, you were supposed to be with Greyback.” The name made Remus flinch “I can’t believe he tried to make me jealous, I can’t believe he knew me that well, better than I knew myself. I didn’t know I could get jealous like that.” He took a deep breath “Everything shifted to the abyss when I found the Prewetts’ bodies. It was the day after the full and Greyback’s hand was everywhere,” Gideon’s chest was smashed, a deep cut from shoulder to hip: Sirius remembered the dark grey-red of his organs “his smell was everywhere” blood even on the ceiling “and I could recognise the scents of other wolves and I kept thinking I couldn’t remember how yours was, I couldn’t say if it was there.” The stag, the wolf, the dog and the rat hadn’t run together in months. “I decided to tell James about my suspicions. Wormtail backed me up, of course he did, that vicious little bastard. Lily didn’t believe it. She never did. She slapped me so hard that day, Remus, I can still feel her diamond ring cutting my cheekbone.” She had been so angry her fiery hair looked like Medusa’s “James asked if I was sure, I said” Sirius paused, and he could feel Remus holding his breath “As sure as I can be.” This time, when Remus pulled back, Sirius didn’t try to prevent him from doing so. Opening his eyes and coming back to the present was almost a relief. Remus wasn’t facing him, hands in his thin, grizzled hair.

“This is what _I’m_ ashamed of, Moony.” Sirius didn’t move. “I will regret that night for the rest of my life.”

“How could you…?” Remus’ voice broke.

“How could I believe you were a spy?” Sirius surprised himself in noticing how calm he felt “It made sense at the time. You were clever enough, skilled enough, brave enough. And you were already a double agent. A part of me, the most egocentric one, even thought they did it on purpose: Bellatrix, Regulus. They must have known what there was between us, I thought. They have recruited him because they knew it would hurt me most.”

Remus finally looked at him, his lips were pressed together in such a thin line they had lost their colour. Sirius held his gaze: “I don’t know much about forgiveness, Remus. I am a Black. We don’t forgive.” He said bitterly “But I am also a Potter. Or I was, at least. And Prongs knew about forgiveness, and compassion. Lily too. Monty and Effie too. They are all dead, but we aren’t.” He tried swallowing the lump at the back of his throat. “I don’t know what I would have done, if you were the spy for real.” He paused “I like to think I would have remembered I was a Potter too, once.”

 

*

 

That night, they didn’t sleep. They apparated on the roof, already entangled and busy taking off their clothes like their life depended on it. Remus’ was wearing wizard robes, thank Merlin, much easier to get rid of, but Sirius’ belt and jeans kept them occupied for some long, unbearable instants.

Remus kissed his neck and Sirius bent his head backwards, looking at the sky, the stars, the moon. Everything looked like a messy blur, like a Van Gogh painting. He inhaled profoundly, expanding his chest, trying to brief in as much air as possible. He wanted to remember how the wind felt on his skin, before being forced to return inside. He wanted to remember how Remus felt as he pushed Sirius against the wall, scratching his back against the concrete and biting his lips, stealing kisses and groans and half-words.

He grasped Remus’ scrawny hips, forcing him near, rubbing against him and digging his fingers in the dimples at the bottom of his back. It was late but it was warm, and Sirius knew he wasn’t shivering for the breeze as Remus fell on his knees and mouthed at the birthmark near his hip, and Sirius groaned and closed his eyes and dug his fingers in his scalp, keeping him there, keeping him close.

“Remus…” he whispered, broken and patched up and torn again, just to be put back together once more.

His knees gave up at some point and they fell on the ground, laughing and breathing fast and kissing again and rubbing against each other, touching one another, busy discovering things they had never found out before and, at the same time, going back to what they thought lost.

Sirius kissed the red, jagged fresh scar that was starting to heal on Remus’ chest. He took his time drawing it with his tongue, lingering on it, even if Remus protested faintly, grabbing a handful of his long hair, trying to pull him back; but Sirius insisted, eyes open and short breaths and in the end he just surrendered.

They could have tenderness, Sirius found out that night. Even on dirty concrete, even at the top of an old roof. They took their time. He had no idea they were able to do that. He kissed Remus scars and mended his heart and breathed in his smell and tasted his sweat in a hot summer night, on a rooftop in London.

They found each other again, and it was different and somehow better than almost two decades before. The doubts and the fears and the insecurities weren’t there. They were different: disenchanted and hurt and broken and more than ten years apart. But still there.

Remus tasted familiar and foreign. He felt like home and like a distant land. Sirius sucked and kissed every inch of skin he could. He took him in his mouth, engulfing him in hot, damp wetness, enjoying Remus’ hands on his shoulders, in his hair, his soft moans, the gasps he tried to suppress. When he came, Sirius was cradling him in his hands, forehead pressed against his bony hip. The wind caressed Sirius’ shoulders as he abandoned himself at Remus’ side. He got him off with sharp, fast movements of his hand. Fast, but not rushed. Sirius thought it made all the difference in the world.

They summoned cigarettes and wine and shared a fag and a bottle of Château de Beaucastel from 1981. It was probably the last purchase of his father. Sirius thought it was just fitting that they had something of that year. Getting at the bottom of it felt somehow like closure.

They looked at the sky and at the stars and didn’t talk, at first. It was a very warm night. They enjoyed the fact that they were there and still alive and still able to look at each other in the eye without hating themselves too much because they had survived. At some point, Sirius even thought that it was a bless that they didn’t meet for twelve years, he didn’t know if they would have been able to cope with James and Lily’s deaths right after the fact, if they would have been able to put aside everything that had happened in the former two years and just move on. After so many years… well, they could simply recognise they were two tattered souls, that they had done good and bad and sometimes it didn’t matter if they’d done more of one or the other. They had betrayed each other without even wanting to. They had loved each other without even wanting to. They could only hope they would not make the same mistakes again, this time. They could patch it up like one of Remus’ old Gryffindor sweaters.

“Moony.”

“Mh?” Remus breathed in a mouthful of smoke and the red tip of the cigarette lit his eyes.

“I’m happy to be here too.”

They had survived, and they were together, and Sirius knew he didn’t want to ask for more, because nothing more would come. He thought of Remus and his scars, he thought of himself, not losing his mind, fighting back, coming back, he thought of Harry and how wonderful he had grown.

_You would be proud of us, Prongs._

James didn’t answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own anything. I just enjoy angst.

**Author's Note:**

> Since someone told me I enjoy inflicting pain: I do not own HP and its characters. I just write angsty stuff because I am a horrible person and I have fun doing it.


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